


Nothing's So Loud

by GlassParade



Series: Nothing's So Loud [2]
Category: Glee
Genre: AU, M/M, Say Anything
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-11-15
Updated: 2012-02-27
Packaged: 2017-10-26 02:34:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 19
Words: 102,174
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/277709
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GlassParade/pseuds/GlassParade
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Blaine Anderson is the easy going skateboarding slacker who's carried a torch for sheltered class Valedictorian Kurt Hummel for the last year. On the day they graduate from high school, he decides to do something about it. There's no way they should work. Everything will conspire against them. Can this unlikely pairing prevail? A very loose adaptation of the movie 'Say Anything', set in 1998.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

“...look, it's just when Mr. Schuester uses the word love while signing my yearbook, I think pedo.” Quinn shuddered and shook her pink tinged bangs out of her eyes. In the next instant she'd slammed her yearbook shut and tossed it aside. “It's creepy.”

 

Jeff rolled his head from looking at Quinn to looking at their mutual best friend, who was staring out of Quinn's bedroom window with his Slushie cup half empty and dangling forgotten from his hand. “Blaine. She's being difficult.”

 

Blaine looked up, feeling as if he'd just awoken from a deep sleep. “I'm going to go out with Kurt Hummel again.”

 

Quinn and Jeff exchanged glances, trying to decide who was going to have to be the one to break the news to Blaine. Quinn lost the surreptitious game of Rock, Paper, Scissors and took a deep breath. “Blaine. You kind of had to have gone out on a date in the first place.”

 

“We did! We totally went on a date.” He sat up and slurped at his Slushie before using it to gesture at his friends. “We ate together at Lima Mall. In the food court. That's a date.”

 

“That is so not a date, Blaine,” Quinn scoffed. “It's not even a scam.”

 

“You just sort of ate...near him,” Jeff pointed out as he ambled over to Quinn's stereo. With a practiced gesture, he flipped the lid of the CD player up and extracted the Red Hot Chili Peppers disc that Quinn had put on, exchanging it for Mighty Mighty Bosstones over her strenuous objections. “Like, he was there, and you were there, and there was eating, but it was a coincidence?” He flopped back down to his spot by the bed, all arms and legs sprawling over the floor.

 

Blaine looked at Quinn, his eyebrows knitting together in confusion. “What's a scam?”

 

“Going out as friends.” Quinn shrugged and stopped glaring murderously at Jeff, turning her attention to tuning her guitar.

 

“No, it's not,” Jeff objected. “A scam is lusting.”

 

Now Blaine felt even more confused than ever. “Well, Jesus, what the hell constitutes a date, then?”

 

“A date means prearrangement,” was Jeff's response as he picked his bright red graduation gown up from where it was draped over a chair in Quinn's bedroom. “Like making reservations. Come on, we've gotta get ready.” He tilted his head to look at his blue checkered Vans. “Maybe I should have worn my red Chucks.”

 

“So do not want to do this,” Quinn grumbled, shoving her guitar off of her lap to crawl off of the bed. “God, Schuester probably got Finn to agree to lurch all over the stage and sing something stupid from the 80's as a farewell, and I just _can't._ ”

 

Blaine hadn't moved. “I'm doing it. I'm going to ask him out.” His friends groaned in unison, Quinn actually picking up a pillow and throwing it directly at him.

 

“Kurt Hummel doesn't go _out_ with guys like you.” Quinn threw her hands in the air when Blaine just grinned and tossed the pillow back. “Kurt's a Drama nut. And a total Brain.”

 

Jeff sighed. “Trapped in the body of one of Madonna's back up dancers.” Quinn shot him a glare, causing him to hold his hands out defensively. “Hey! I'm just saying what we're all thinking. I've been in dance class with him for years. He's bendy.” He dove away from Quinn with a yelp when she advanced on him with another pillow and malicious intent in her eyes.

 

“That's what I like about him! Well, not the bendy thing. Well, not just the bendy thing.” He was oblivious to his friends chasing each other around Quinn's bedroom, lost in his reverie. “He's got the greatest eyes. And he's smart, otherwise he wouldn't be Valedictorian. But he doesn't seem to care. He's just _Kurt_.” Tipping his head back, Blaine smiled blissfully. “And that's awesome.”

 

Contenting herself with simply hurling the pillow at Jeff, Quinn turned back to Blaine, tugging worriedly at the ends of her pink shag. “Look, Blaine. You're a good guy. A great guy. We...we just don't want to see you get hurt.”

 

He'd had enough. Tossing his Slushie cup into the wastebasket by his chair, Blaine jumped to his feet and stalked out the door. He paused only once to snatch up his own cap and gown, glaring sulkily at his best friends while he did.

 

“You know what?” he snapped out, twisting the red polyester in his hands. “I want to get hurt!”

 

* * *

Kurt shuffled through his index cards, biting down on his lower lip as he fretted over his valedictory speech. “I don't know if they'll like it. If they'll get it,” he moaned, shoving a hand through his hair.

 

“Didn't you tell me not to chew on my lips because it's bad for them?” Burt Hummel dropped a plate of eggs and toast on the table. “Come on, kid. Eat something. Your speech is fine, you're gonna do great.”

 

“I'm not hungry.” He swallowed down the lump of apprehension in his throat, regretting it immediately as it turned into a leaden burden in his stomach. “Couldn't eat a thing.”

 

“Kurt...” Burt's voice brooked no argument, and he backed up his stance by marching around the table and snatching the little cards out of his son's hands, ignoring his squawks of protest. “Eat some toast, maybe some eggs, and we'll talk about me giving these back to you. You may be a high school graduate, but I'm still your dad, kiddo.”

 

Kurt picked up a slice of toast, nibbling at the edges. It tasted like cardboard. “I don't think they'll like it. They don't really like me. They don't know me.” He tossed the toast down. “Can I just be sick?”

 

“Not a chance. I bought a camcorder just for the occasion. You're gonna give me my money's worth.” Burt reached across the table and grabbed his only son's hand. “Come on, Kurt. Whaddaya mean, they don't like you? You got friends. That Mercedes girl, and Rachel, they like you.”

 

“Two people out of a school population of 1,200 doesn't really constitute me being popular and liked, Dad.” Kurt forced on a smile, knowing from his father's worried frown that he wasn't fooling Burt for a minute. He also didn't feel like explaining that those two friendships ended at the doors of McKinley High School – he talked about the girls so much only because they were the only kids in school who really talked to him at all. Sighing, he looked away. “It's just that I bother people, Dad. I'm too different. And a few of them know that...that I'm...well.”

 

“You're gay.” Burt was blunt, but he could afford to be. He'd known about his son's sexual orientation for two years now and in that time he'd come to accept it. For him, it was a fact of life, no more, no less. He knew it was different for most of the rest of the world, though. “You never said...did they ever give you any kind of crap for that? You know you coulda told me if they had. I'd have been there for you.”

 

“I know you would have, but no, no one ever really gave me crap. It made them uncomfortable, so they just...stayed away. Far away. Thank God, really. It could have been so different.” Kurt shrugged and cast his eyes down to hide the hurt he knew lurked there. He'd been so very fortunate that they hadn't been tormented or run out of town due to his orientation. That didn't make isolation any less a painful thing to deal with. “And then I took all those classes off campus...it's okay, really, I needed the time to study instead of socialize. But now I'm a stranger graduating at the top of their class, speaking to them like I know better than they do what's out there. It's stupid.”

 

“Aw, kid...” Burt was at a loss for words. Ever since his wife had died when Kurt was young, he'd tried to do his best for his son. But he'd had to split his time between being around for him and running his tire shop so that he could afford to give the kid the best life possible. Sometimes he worried he hadn't gotten it quite right. He remembered high school, Kurt should have been out partying and getting himself grounded these last four years. But it had never happened. Not even once.

 

“It's fine.” Kurt looked back up, his emotions under control and his smile a little more genuine. “I'm just running off at the mouth. Nerves, you know.” Shoveling two forkfuls of eggs into his mouth, he chewed quickly and held his hand out for his index cards. “May I have those back, please? I'll read my favorite line to you.”

 

“Oh, all right.” Burt handed the cards over, shaking his head. “Finish that slice of toast.”

 

“In a minute.” Kurt took a deep breath. “I've got something to tell everybody,” he read from the card, a blush rising in his cheeks. “I've glimpsed our future, and all I can say is...go back.”

 

Burt threw his head back and laughed uproariously. “That's great, kiddo.”

 

“Thanks.” Kurt smiled again and glanced over at the red graduation gown draped over the back of the sofa, sighing. “I guess I'd better get ready. Ugh.”

 

“Hey, you only gotta wear it once,” Burt chuckled, following his son's gaze. “And anyway, you look pretty good in red.”

 

“That's true,” Kurt mused, tipping his head to the side. “I just wish it hadn't had to be _polyester_...”

 

* * *

“ _I have run, I have crawled,_ ” Finn Hudson belted, looking like nothing so much as a very earnest, constipated infant. “ _I have scaled these city walls, these city walls...only to be with you_.” His voice rang out over the McKinley High's PA system, generally in tune but overall displaying more enthusiasm than talent. Blaine bit his lip to hold back the hysterical giggles he felt rising in his throat.

 

“Kill me now,” Quinn muttered into Blaine's ear, her long beaded earrings brushing his cheek. Her fingers twined in with his and she squeezed a little too tight in her agitation. “Please. I'll pay you.”

 

 _Ouch._ He untangled his fingers and squeezed her arm considerably more gently. “Sorry, Quincy. No can do. I already logged my hours by your hospital bedside. I don't think I can read 'Grimm's Fairy Tales' aloud a fifth time. ” They exchanged affectionate smiles, and Blaine was reminded again how lucky they all were that her suicide attempt last fall hadn't been successful. “Besides. The song's not too long.”

 

“It's long enough.” They both winced as Finn sang about how he _felt the healing in her fingertips_ and pointed at his girlfriend Rachel, class Salutatorian and the girl he'd been cheating on Quinn with. “And deeply, deeply painful. Are you sure you won't put me out of my misery?”

 

“Aw, Lucy Goosey. I'd rather put him out of yours.” He poked at her sides, knowing exactly how much ticklish pressure was needed to jolly a tiny smile out of her as she tried not to burst out laughing. “C'mon, Lucy Goosey. Smile for me.”

 

“Will it get you to stop calling me all these childish nicknames?” Her acid tone was belied by the giggles she was trying to stifle. “Honestly, we're graduates now, _Blainers_. Besides, no one calls me Lucy anymore. I even got Figgins to promise not to put it on my diploma.”

 

“Never. You're my Lucy Goosey and my Quincy right up till the day you die. Of natural causes, as an old lady with a dozen tattoos and as many Grammy awards.” He tickled her one last time. “And you're smiling, which was the whole point.”

 

She ducked her head, plugging her fingers into her ears as Finn let them all know that Rachel had _carried the cross of my shame, oooooof myyyyyy shaaaaaame_. “He doesn't have any shame at all,” she mumbled. “Good thing, too, Rachel would snap like a twig under the burden of it if he did. Tiny little dweeb. Look at them! He's gigantic, she's an elf, how the hell do they even have sex?”

 

“With a complicated system of ropes and pulleys,” Blaine replied in a blithe whisper, earning another giggle from Quinn and glares from the row in front of them. He buried his head in her shoulder in a vain effort to get himself under control.

 

But he sat up straight as Principal Figgins thanked Finn – who was shouting now about the party at Puck's tonight – and then began to introduce Kurt as the class Valedictorian. He moved to the podium with a stack of index cards clutched in his hand, shuffling them as he prepared to speak. “Oh, God. How does he make even this stupid robe look so _good_?”

 

“Blaine...” Quinn sighed and leaned her head onto his shoulder. “Stop it. You're a skateboard freak who wears vintage rock band t-shirts you got at Goodwill. Kurt got a 1600 on his SAT and wears vintage, I don't know, Givenchy or something. He's not for you.”

 

“He really has the best eyes. He looks _amazing_.” Blaine leaned forward and propped his chin on his hands. “I gotta ask him out.”

 

A groan from Quinn. “Does he even know you exist?”

 

“Maybe. Maybe not. If he doesn't, he will. Soon.” He flapped his hand at her in a shushing motion. “He's going to speak!”

 

At the podium, Kurt cleared his throat and made one last mental rearrangement of his speech before opening his mouth to speak. He found his nervousness at public speaking surprising; after all, he'd spent the last several years performing and studying acting. He'd taken speech and diction classes and even spent his sophomore and junior year on the debate team.

 

Maybe it was because right now, he wasn't performing for a faceless audience. He could see every one of his classmates in the bleachers, squinting through the sunshine to catch a glimpse of the guy the Principal had just announced as the top of their class. Trying to figure out either who he was or who the hell he thought he was.

 

And the words typed neatly on the white cards before him, this wasn't an Ibsen monologue or sonnet for a dramatic reading. Kurt had written these words himself, had sweated and starved to get them exactly right...only to read them to three hundred people he barely knew. Would his speech mean anything to them? Did Valedictory speeches ever mean anything to anyone?

 

Briefly, Kurt had the hysterical urge to simply recite the lyrics to “You Must Love Me” from the _Evita_ film soundtrack and walk right off of the stage. Or maybe something by the Spice Girls would be funnier. With a hard swallow, he cut off the frantic giggle that was building in his throat and simply dove into his speech.

 

“My name is Kurt Hummel, and I don't know many of you,” he admitted with as much frank honesty in his words as he could muster, watching several of his classmates jump at hearing his high, clear voice for the first time. “Nor do most of you know me. And I'm sorry about that -” a lie, but graduation was the time when people fibbed a bit to make other people feel better, he figured - “because I missed out on a lot of things that normal people do in high school. Making friends and going to football games, or dances, or parties.” He smiled as this elicited a cheer from his classmates, most of whom looked like they spent 98% of their time partying.

 

Pausing for breath, he looked down at his cards again and gathered himself. “But my time spent with my nose in my books or going to off-campus classes and workshops has given me one valuable bit of perspective that I thought I ought to share with you today, on this day when we are poised on the cusp of nominal adulthood.” Pause. Breath. “I have glimpsed our future, my fellow graduates, and all I can say is...go back.”

 

One laugh in the sudden silence, from his father. Kurt stifled a sigh. But there was Quinn Fabray in the pool of graduates, all pink hair and bad attitude – she'd smiled a little. And the boy upon whose shoulder she was leaning her head, with his big bright eyes and charming encouraging smile, he seemed to have liked it as well. Kurt smiled shyly back at him before resuming. “In a few months, we'll all be going to college or doing other things that are supposed to be the start of the rest of our lives, and...my good gentlemen and ladies of the class of 1998, I submit to you this question: how do we even _know_ we're ready for that?”

 

A dismayed murmur started up amongst the adults in the audience, while his classmates began to look more interested. Kurt hid a smirk of satisfaction, feeling the last of his bubbling nervousness drain away. “We all read what we're told to read, we fill in the Scantrons, being careful to not go outside the lines of the circles. We join the clubs we're told will help us and we tell everyone what our major will be like there's not a good chance we'll change it three times just before our junior year of college!” The students were beginning to cheer now, bolstering his confidence as much as it surprised him. “I ask again, how do we _know_ we're ready?”

 

He went silent and watched the cheering audience until they, too, began to go quiet and wait for his next words. “We don't,” he finally said. “We don't know we're ready. I know I don't know that I am. But I know also that while I said we should go back, the only way to find out if we're ready is to just go ahead and do it. Move forward, no matter how scared you are. And let me tell you, my friends...” Kurt trailed off and looked down for a second before tipping his head back up and locking eyes with the brightly smiling boy who had encouraged him earlier. “I personally am scared to death.”

 

* * *

Blaine pressed his Polaroid camera into Quinn's reluctant hands. “Please, Quinn. Please?”

 

“This is so embarrassing,” she moaned. “I am begging you, Blaine, don't make me do it.” She tried to shove the camera back at him, but he refused, backing away with a cheery grin.

 

“Don't drop it or my sister will kill you,” he warned. With a wink, he began backing away. “Wait 'til I'm right behind him, okay?”

 

Jeff slung an arm around Quinn as she dropped her face into one palm, letting out an inarticulate noise that was a cross between a growl and a groan. “Come on, Quinn. Don't worry so much, you know Blaine. He's never into any one guy for very long. He's got too much going on with the skate shop and trying to get sponsorship deals for himself. This'll be over soon.”

 

But Quinn was chewing on her lower lip when she lifted her head, watching Blaine amble off across the school's front lawn. Her delicate eyebrows furrowed together as she considered everything. “No, I don't think so, Jeff,” she murmured slowly, beginning to walk herself. “I'm thinking this one's going to be trouble.”

 

When they finally moved to catch up to Blaine, he was standing behind a tree and watching Kurt and his father engage in an animated conversation. He swatted away Quinn's last half-hearted effort to give him the camera back. “Okay. Okay. I'm gonna just, you know, walk up behind him. You ready, Quincy?”

 

“Quit calling me Quincy, or I'll not only not take the picture, I will shove this camera into a soft place where the corners will hurt you a lot,” snarled his friend. Blaine merely grinned and danced out of her reach.

 

“Whatever you say, Lucy Goosey.” He waved and sauntered as casually as he could over to the general vicinity of the Hummels. As he neared them, trembling just a little, he could pick up bits and pieces of their conversation.

 

“...no, Dad, it's fine,” he could hear Kurt arguing, a tight little smile on his face. “I don't _want_ to go to a party. Really, I don't.”

 

Burt Hummel was clearly unhappy. “It's just that you were sayin' this morning – hell, right up there on that stage you said...” At his son's irritated glare, he trailed off, clearly relenting. “Never mind, then. Listen. It's a happy day, let's be happy. I got you a little somethin'.” Placing both hands on his son's shoulders, he turned him around and pointed to a blue Honda CRX parked at a nearby curb. “Happy Graduation, Kurt.”

 

“Are you kidding me?” Kurt gasped, thrusting a hand out to point at the car himself. He glanced back over his shoulder at his father. “That?”

 

At that moment, Blaine dodged behind Kurt to give Quinn the high sign. With a roll of her eyes, she complied, snapping the photo and ducking back behind her tree. When Blaine came around, she was leaning against it with a sardonic smirk twitching at the corners of her mouth, fanning the picture to get it to develop.

 

“Thanks, Quinn.” He snatched away the photo and smiled happily, ignoring her eyeroll and the kick she aimed at his shin with her Doc Martens. Sticking a finger under her chin, he tipped it up so he could kiss her cheek. “I owe you one.”

 

“Good. I'm cashing in now.” She jerked a thumb over her shoulder, drawing Blaine's attention to where Jeff was happily chatting with Judy Fabray. “Get me out of here before she starts in on me too hard.”

 

“Too late.” Blaine patted Quinn on the head as Judy spotted them and waved frantically to get their attention. Quinn heaved a gusty sigh, leading Blaine to wrap a comforting arm around her slender shoulders. “Don't sweat it. Jeff and I will do our best to keep her off of you and we'll get out of here, okay? I'll buy you a huge Snickers Blizzard when we go to lunch.”

 

“Damn right you will,” she muttered at him as they approached Jeff and Judy. “Hi, Mom.”

 

“Oh, Quinnie,” Judy fretted, her hands flitting and fluttering around her daughter's face and shoulders like hummingbirds, in frantic motion but never actually alighting anywhere. “I wish you had let me take you to Antonio to have your hair fixed before today.”

 

A tight smile crossed Quinn's lips at her mother's idea of a suitable greeting. “My hair is fine, Mom.” It was an argument they'd had for the last seven months, ever since Quinn had been released from the hospital and decided to radically alter her image. Blaine squeezed her shoulders again.

 

“Ms. F, we're all gonna go get lunch together now. Is that all right?” He smiled broadly, the big charming grin that parents found impossible to resist, despite his general frowsy, slightly rumpled appearance. “Then I'll drop Quinn off and she can get ready for Puck's party.” But this was too far, and he had to conceal a grimace as Quinn dug a pointy elbow into his ribs. Judy's face creased in worry.

 

“Quinnie, are you sure you're up to a party?”

 

Quinn dug her elbow harder into Blaine's side, smiling ever more brightly as he began to whimper. “I'm fine, Mom. It's _fine_. It's the official graduation party, I _want_ to go.”

 

“If you're sure.” Judy's fluttering hands picked up speed in her anxiety, but still she did not touch her daughter. “Don't forget, Quinnie, when you go, don't talk to Finn, all right?”

 

“Jesus, Mom, it's going to be fine.” Quinn had reached the limits of her patience and shoved Blaine's arm off, stalking towards the battered Impala that was the only car she allowed her father to buy her after he had walked out on her and Judy. Blaine and Jeff smiled apologetically at Ms. Fabray, who transferred her hummingbird fluttering to them.

 

“It's all right, boys. I know Quinnie's had a rough year.” Her smile was tremulous as she finally calmed down enough to seize them both in a hug. “You all looked wonderful, I'm so proud. Happy graduation, boys.”

 

“Thanks, Ms. F,” they chorused as she released them and wandered off. Jeff nudged Blaine's shoulder. “C'mon, dude. Let's see if Quinn's okay. You know how she gets.”

 

“Yeah...” Blaine stuffed his hands into his pockets as they headed for Quinn's car. Their path took them past where Kurt and Burt Hummel were seated inside Kurt's own new vehicle. Burt's hands were in constant motion as he seemed to be earnestly explaining the mechanics of driving stick shift to his son. Kurt was nodding while his father spoke, a tiny frown of concentration drawing his eyebrows together.

 

“Blaine?” Jeff had paused, glancing over his shoulder and realizing that his friend had stopped walking. With a shrug, he strolled backwards until he was back at Blaine's side. “Hey. Blaine. Quinn?”

 

“Yeah! Yeah, okay.” Blaine shook his head and resumed his amble, sighing as he saw Quinn leaning against her car, stomping out one cigarette butt after using it to light the fresh one she'd poked between her bright red lips. The expression on her face could only be described as thunderous, making it clear that it was going to be another one of _those_ afternoons. Poor Quinn.

 

Casting a quick glance back over his shoulder, Blaine inadvertently made eye contact with Kurt Hummel, who had been staring after him with a faint smile of amused curiosity on his gorgeous face.

 

* * *

“Kurt? Are you even listening to me?” Burt's voice cut through the haze of Kurt's thoughts of the curly haired skater guy who'd just passed him, the one who'd had the bright encouraging smile during his speech. He looked vaguely familiar, as if Kurt had spoken to him recently, but he couldn't quite place it. _Oh, well_ , he thought, turning his attention back to his father.

 

“Yes! I've got it. I press the clutch when I want to change gears. Don't force the gear change with the stick. Brake when I want to stop. When I start moving again, gently apply the accelerator with a feather light touch.” He started the car and disengaged the parking brake, keeping his foot on the foot brake as he turned to smile at his father. “This is...amazing. Thank you, Dad.”

 

“Well, you're welcome.” Burt's tone was affectionate and gruff all at once, his smile warm as he looked proudly at his son. “It's used, and I don't really know much about these little rice-mobiles, but I wanted you to have somethin' decent and fuel efficient. Jim at the imports place has been helping me fix this up for you.”

 

“But you haven't been working too hard, right?” Kurt was suddenly anxious. Burt's doctor had let them know four months ago that the elder Hummel's cholesterol levels were higher than he liked. He'd recommended medication but Burt had asked for a chance to try regulating it through diet first. Reluctantly, the physician had consented on the proviso that Burt cut back his hours at the shop as well. “Dad, you haven't been overdoing it, right?”

 

“I'm fine, Kurt.” The gruffness was less affectionate now; Burt loathed being coddled. “Let's see if you can get us home without stalling.”

 

He couldn't. It took forty-five minutes to get back to their house, a journey that usually took less than half that time. They'd had to take a circuitous, winding route to avoid heavily trafficked streets, and Kurt had stalled no fewer than fifteen times. By the time they actually arrived home they were both frazzled and snappish.

 

Kurt had never felt so stupid in his life. Kids drove stick all the time, he knew they did, how come he couldn't figure it out? He guessed it just went to show you that being Valedictorian really didn't mean a damn thing in the real world. It was rather ironically amusing to be presented with such a concrete example of that lesson on the very afternoon he graduated from high school.

 

Burt's hand landed on his shoulder as they moved towards the front door of the house. “Don't sweat it, kid,” he sighed, a rueful smile on his face. “No one gets it first try. We'll just schedule some lessons over the summer.”

 

“Yeah, okay.” Kurt let a tiny smile creep across his own face. “That sounds good.”

 

“And I'm sorry about the A/C goin' out like that.” Now Burt was sheepish. “I'll have Jim take a look at it.”

 

“It's fine. I'm just glad to have a car at all, Dad. Really. Thank you again. I love it. I love you.” He reached over and hugged his father as they entered the house. “Listen, I'm going to shower and then I want to take your car down to the shop for a couple of hours to work on the books, okay?”

 

“Kurt, come on, no,” Burt protested. “Take the day off. You graduated! Go take a nap, watch a movie, do something fun. Maybe go to that party the Hudson kid was talking about.”

 

Kurt shook his head. “Really, Dad, I don't want to. It's fine. I swear it is.” He disappeared upstairs with a smile, leaving Burt to throw himself down on the sofa with a huff, wondering why it actually made him unhappy that his bright, good-looking son preferred accounting to partying.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kurt gets some big news, and Blaine makes what is, for him, a big decision.

 

“I'm home.” Blaine shoved the door to his sister's apartment open, dropping his cap and gown down onto the couch that doubled as his bed.

“Blaine, I'm sorry.” Constance hurried out of the back bedroom, her dark curls exploding out of the scrunchie that tried in vain to hold them back. “There was an emergency appendectomy I had to help out on, and then Jason's daycare called me and said he was feeling sick. Your big day and no one came.”

Blaine shook his head. “Nah, it's cool. I called Mom and Dad on the phone card from Quinn's place and told them all about it, so it's kind of like they were there.” He grinned as his nephew emerged from his room, a woebegone expression on his little face. “Hey, Jase. Under the weather, huh?”

“Yeah.” The four year old clambered up onto one of the stools at the breakfast bar, ably assisted by his uncle, who ruffled his fluffy hair with affection. “Tummy hurts.”

“Tough break, kid. Connie, how come you didn't page me? I would have gone to get him, you didn't have to leave work.” Blaine roamed over to the fridge and pulled out sandwich fixings. Constance frowned.

“I'm not calling you away from your _graduation_ , Blaine, please. You do get to be a teenager sometimes, okay?” She came to peer over his shoulder at the sandwich he was making. “Except for now. Ew, Blaine. There is no food in that food.” Poking at the pack of lunch meat he was using, she shuddered at the jiggle.”I'm a nurse, I feel like I shouldn't condone this meal. And didn't you say you were going to get lunch with Quinn and Jeff?”

“We did go.” He smoothed mustard onto the bread and threw the sandwich together, taking a huge bite before grinning and speaking again. “Then we went to the skate park for an hour, so I'm hungry again.”

“Teenagers. You're bottomless pits.” Constance reached to give him a hug, but recoiled when she realized his shirt was soaked in sweat. “Blaine. Gross. Go shower.”

“Aye aye, Cap'n.” Waving his sandwich in a jaunty salute, Blaine headed for the apartment's tiny pastel bathroom, scooping up the Lima phone book and the household cordless along the way. He wanted to make a call, and the bathroom was the only place he could ensure his privacy.

 _Burt Hummel_   
, spelled out the tiny print of the listing on the tissue-thin paper of the Lima White Pages. Next to it, the number that Blaine was willing himself to call. He tore off another bite of his sandwich and chewed mechanically as he stared at the page.    
_You can do this_   
, he told himself.    
_To hell with whatever Quinn and Jeff say_   
.

It had been the gentle ribbing of his friends that had steered Blaine to where he was now, gaping blankly at the phone book while eating lunch in the cream and lavender flowered bathroom of his sister's apartment. They'd had a field day teasing him at the skate park, and Blaine let them since it seemed to be cheering Quinn up. He was all for anything that pulled her out of her bad moods, even if – usually    
_especially_   
if - it was at his expense. 

But even Blaine had his limits. “Fine,” he'd snapped to Quinn while Jeff took a last run on the half-pipe. “I'm going to do it. You don't believe I'm going to, but when I get home? I'm asking Kurt out on a date.”

And he was going to. He was so going to. Just as soon as he could breathe in    
_and_   
out.

The thing was, Blaine had been crushing on Kurt since the beginning of their senior year, and it had hit him over the head like a ton of bricks. During their freshman year, they'd had one class together – P.E. Blaine remembered a quiet, smallish kid still puppy-fat pudgy around the edges who didn't like the class, who endured it rather than enjoying it as Blaine had done. 

That year, Blaine was only just understanding what “gay” meant and that he was fairly sure it applied to him. No one was on his radar, and when he moved to England with his parents for two years, he'd been too busy arguing with them to send him back home to do much other than admire a few cute guys from afar.

When he returned to McKinley this year, his first glimpse of Kurt had shocked him speechless. No baby fat to speak of anymore, Kurt had undergone an enviable growth spurt and discovered the joys of vintage clothing shopping. Blaine watched him glide through the halls of their high school, still quiet but more at ease in his skin somehow. Catching sight of Kurt wrapped in tight Diesel jeans and an undoubtedly designer pinstriped vest over a soft white button-down made Blaine very, very glad he himself preferred the convenient bagginess of skateboarding shorts.

More and more frequently as the months went by, thoughts of Kurt's intriguing color-changing eyes would interrupt Blaine's concentration on skateboarding or homework. Fantasies of threading his fingers through the other boy's thick, immaculate hair and pulling him in for kisses kept Blaine wide awake at night, fully aroused and generally unable to do anything about it, sleeping as he was on his sister's couch. And on the occasions that Blaine got close enough to hear Kurt speak, his soft, clear voice haunted Blaine's dreams for days.

It had been a brain-scrambling experience for Blaine, who had no idea whatsoever how to deal with his first crush and even less idea of who he could talk to about it other than Jeff or Quinn, who were no help at all. Quinn was far too damaged to even consider the possibility of love for    
_herself_   
, let alone her friends. And Jeff simply didn't care – late bloomer that he was, Jeff never even noticed that he had actual pseudo-groupies, girls who gathered at the skate park just to watch him and flirt awkwardly. 

He'd thought about asking his sister, but Connie's divorce from her husband was too fresh, the wound from him turning around and immediately marrying another woman much too raw. Besides that, she was constantly overworked and trying to raise Jason on her own. Blaine didn't want to burden her with his problems.

And talking to his parents was out of the question. They were tolerant, but still clueless about what it meant to have a gay son. Not to mention the costs of overseas phone calls.

So Blaine was left on his own to decide how to handle this. He could spend the rest of his life wondering what it might have been like to try and win Kurt Hummel's affections, or he could spend it knowing he _had_ at least tried. As the days ticked down closer to graduation, he realized his time to do anything was running out, because wherever Kurt decided to go to college, it wasn't going to be Ohio State. So in the fall, he would be gone far, far away.

All that was left to Blaine now was the summertime.

Reaching for the cordless phone, he clicked it on and began to dial.

* * *

Burt picked up the downstairs extension when it rang, guiltily swallowing the bite of club sandwich he wasn't supposed to be eating. A quick check of the Caller ID box told him it wasn't Kurt calling from the garage, thank goodness. But who was Constance Anderson? “Hummel residence.”

“Hello, Mr. Hummel,” came a polite, unfamiliar voice. “I was wondering if I might speak to Kurt?”

“I'm sorry, he's not home right now,” Burt replied, setting down his plate to retrieve a pen and paper. “Who's this, is it Thad?”

“Um, no -”

“Oh, are you the guy with the Mustang?” He waited, pen poised over the message pad. On the other end of the line, it sounded like whoever was calling was growing increasingly flustered.

“No, no, I drive a Volvo, sir. Um, actually, you don't know me, I'm Blaine Anderson. I go to school with your son?” The boy's voice went up a bit at the end, almost questioning, as if he was unsure. Burt chuckled.

“Well, hey, Blaine. Listen, I'm real sorry Kurt's not here, but I can take a message and give it to him when he gets back.” He waited for a response, amused by the verbal flailing going on. When Kurt had announced that he was gay, Burt had briefly mourned that he would never get the chance to judge whatever girls he brought home. He'd never considered the possibility that he'd get to torment _boys_. Wow, this could be kinda fun.

“Yes, sir. If you'll just tell him it's Blaine Anderson, we, um, we ate together at Lima Mall. Well, sort of. Quinn would tell me to be honest and say we ate near each other, anyway, this was the other day and, so, yes, if he'll just call me back, please.”

Burt couldn't stop grinning as he took down the message. “Sure thing, Blaine. You got a number I can give him?”

“Um, yes, sir, I do. It's 419-587-2312. That's 419-587-2312.” He paused. “419-”

“I got it, kid. I'll give this right to Kurt.” He tore the tiny sheet off and stuffed it into his pocket, setting the pad and pen down. “Bye, now.”

“Bye, sir.”

Chuckling some more to himself, Burt put the phone down and retrieved his lunch. Whoever that kid was, he hoped Kurt brought him home sometime. He sounded like he'd be fun to pick on.

No sooner had he taken another good bite of his sandwich than the phone rang again. “Damn it,” he muttered, putting the plate back down. This had to be some kind of punishment for eating bacon and mayo against Kurt's strict orders. But he'd put it on that weird bumpy whole grain bread Kurt had started insisting he eat...”Hummel residence. No, he's not here. Can I take -”

Not five minutes later, Burt was bolting out the door, sandwich entirely forgotten as he hopped into Kurt's car and sped for the garage. A fifteen minute drive took far, far less than it should have as Burt threw speed limit adherence out the window, grateful that the local cops liked him enough to turn a blind eye to the rare occasions that he broke driving laws. He had no time to be pulled over and ticketed, the news he'd just received was too important for delays.

When he arrived at the shop, he hurled himself out of the CRX and into the back office, not even bothering to greet his bewildered mechanics. Kurt looked up when Burt shoved the door open, a puzzled frown on his face as his father pulled the ledger he'd been working on right out of his hands. “Dad? Is everything all right?”

“Good, you're sitting down already. No, stay there.” He waved Kurt away and turned to close the blinds covering the windows that looked out on the production floor. “I had a phone call.”

“Dad, what is it? Tell me.” Kurt jumped to his feet, heedless of his father's admonition. Burt came back around the desk and gently forced his son back into his chair. “Dad, please, was it your doctor? Is it your -”

“No, it was not my doctor, Kurt. I'm fine. Will you calm down?” He ruffled the boy's hair, ignoring the yelp of protest that Kurt let out. “It's about you, kid. Kurt, you got it – the Gielgud fellowship. You won.”

“I what?” Kurt was stunned. “I won? Me?”

“You.” Burt beamed as his son slithered so low in his chair, he nearly fell to the floor. “You're going to the best acting school in the world, just like you've been telling me since you were ten years old. The best one in the _world_ , Kurt. Didn't you tell me there were, like, fifty kids going for that one place? And _you_ won it!” He pulled Kurt back upright in his seat, grabbing his hands and grinning so wide he thought his face might split in two. “It's all coming together kid, just like you wanted. Good job.”

Kurt looked up at his father's smiling face and covered his own with one hand, sinking down in his chair again. “But, London. Ugh. I'll have to fly there. On a plane. You know I hate planes.”

“Aah, you'll be fine, whatever, we'll get you Valium or something.” Burt waved his hand carelessly before hauling Kurt to his feet, enveloping him in a bear hug. “Point is, you did it, Kurt. You're gettin' out of here. _Now_ will you admit that you're something special?” 

“Well, yeah, it is pretty good...” Kurt was still in shock, trying to take it all in. “I won,” he whispered to himself, a tiny smile beginning to curl up his mouth. “I won.”

“You won,” Burt confirmed. “And I think this calls for a celebration. Wanna order pizza tonight?”

“We really shouldn't...oh, why not.” Kurt hugged his father in delight. “I'll even let you get sausage on your half. No double cheese, though, okay?”

“Oh, all right. Veggie on your half?”

“Yes, please.” He looked down at his hands, unable to wipe the smile off of his face. “I can't believe it.”

“Well, you better get on that, because it happened. It's all happening for you, Kurt.” Burt shoved his hands into his pockets, jumping a little when he touched unexpected paper. “Oh, hey. In all the excitement, I forgot about this.” He pulled the little slip out and wiggled it teasingly. “A boy called.”

“A boy?” He snatched the paper away from his father, mystified. “Who?”

“Blaine somebody.” Grinning, Burt shrugged. “He mentioned a girl named Quinn. Didn't you know a Quinn in Glee Club? Anyway, he says you two ate at the mall together the other day.”

“But I didn't eat lunch with anyone at the mall, I was alone.” Kurt frowned at the paper as if it could explain. “I don't think I know who this is.”

Burt didn't care, as long as Kurt brought the kid over at least once. He wanted to see what kind of guy could get so worked up and flustered over his son. “Well, call him back anyway. He sounded nice.”

“Did he? Well, okay.” Shoving the paper into his own pocket, Kurt reached down for his bag and his keys. “Let's go home and celebrate!”

* * *

Blaine was out in the parking lot, holding his nephew up on his skateboard when Constance appeared at her door with the cordless in her hand and a puzzled expression on her face. She covered the mouthpiece with her free hand before she spoke. “It's a...Kurt Hummel?”

It took a moment for her words to sink in, but once they had, Blaine snatched Jason up under one arm and his board under the other, racing for the door as his nephew giggled. He swapped child for phone and tried to shove past his sister to get to the bathroom, but Connie had other plans. She simply set Jason back down in front of him, blocking his path, and sprinted for the bathroom herself. “I got it, I got it, I got it, it's mine,” she whooped in triumph from behind the closed door. “Too bad.”

Standing stock still to gather his thoughts, Blaine glanced around the tiny apartment for anywhere else to go. Nothing. He looked down at his nephew. “Not one word, you got it? Not a single sound.” At Jason's solemn nod, he lifted the phone to his ear. “Hello?”

“Hi, this is Kurt Hummel. You called me?”

“Yes! Yes, I did. Hello, thank you.” Blaine heard himself babbling and cringed, willing himself to pull it back. “You probably don't remember me, we sort of ate together at the mall the other day.”

“Yes, that's what my father said.” Kurt's tone was gently amused, yet Blaine didn't feel as though he were being mocked. “And I am sorry to say that I really don't remember you.”

“That's okay.” Blaine had expected this, so while disappointment at being unmemorable stung at his heart a bit, he was able to rally. “Listen, I heard about your fellowship. Big day for you, huh?” The evening paper had arrived before he'd gone outside with Jason, and it already had a blurb about Kurt's accomplishment. He'd been right – Kurt was definitely not staying in Ohio. Blaine had picked the last possible minute to make his move.

“Yeah, big day. How did you manage to hear about that?” Kurt laughed. “I only got the news myself about an hour ago.”

“You've lived here your whole life, you know the gossip mill is efficient,” Blaine teased. 

A humming noise of agreement from the other end of the line. “It's true. You could light the entire city of Lima for a year on the energy it generates.”

“Yeah.” Silence fell for a moment. “Anyway, Kurt, I wanted to say congratulations on that, first thing. Really awesome for you.”

“Thank you. I appreciate that.” Kurt sounded genuinely pleased at this, and Blaine smiled at being the cause of it. It gave him the boldness to proceed with the real reason for his reaching out to Kurt Hummel.

“So, listen, I think we should go out.”

Kurt made a muffled noise of surprise. “Come again?”

“Let's go out. See, I lived in England for a couple of years, my parents are in the military, right?” He rushed to get the words out, wishing he could see Kurt's face to gauge how it was coming across. Left without that useful guide, he steeled himself to stick to the plan before he lost his nerve. “Anyway, since I lived there, and you're going to live there, I thought we could get together some time and I could give you tips? I have many tips. English tips.”

“I don't know...” Kurt murmured, his apprehension clear for Blaine to hear. 

“Or no tips. Tips are off the table. We can just hang out. Or go to Puck's party tonight.” But Blaine could already hear the rejection coming down the line.

“I'm just, I really have my hands full,” was Kurt's apologetic response. “It's a lot to do, getting ready to go, and I only have a few weeks. I have a ton of arrangements to make. Plane tickets, packing, passports, many things that begin with the letter P.”

“Come on, Kurt,” Blaine coaxed, hoping he was hiding his mild panic. “I was listening to your awesome speech this morning. You said you didn't know anyone because you'd spent so much time studying. I can't let you run off to England without trying to help you rectify that.”

There was a rustling on the other end of the line, like Kurt was shifting the phone from one ear to another. “You actually paid attention to my speech?”

“Of course I did.”

The next silence stretched on long enough for Blaine to worry that the other boy had hung up on him. Finally, Kurt spoke again. “So let me get this straight. You're asking me out on a date?”

Blaine shrugged, momentarily forgetting that Kurt couldn't see him. “It doesn't have to be if you don't want it to be,” he answered. “But I    
_really_   
couldn't let you leave the country without at least letting you know there was interest. From me.”

A surprised chortle burst out of Kurt before he reined it in. “All right. I'll go with you to Puck's party.”

“Really? You will?” Hearing how eager he sounded, Blaine shook his head and tried again. “I mean, that's awesome. I'll pick you up at eight. Is that enough time?” He couldn't stop grinning like an idiot.

“Eight sounds fine.” Kurt's voice clearly conveyed the fact that he was smiling, which in turn made Blaine smile wider and dance in place a little. “I'll see you then.”

“Great, yeah, okay. Okay then. Um, bye for now, then,” Blaine babbled.

“Bye.” With that, Kurt hung up, leaving a dial tone buzzing in his ear.

 _Excellent._   
Clicking the phone off, Blaine chucked it down on the couch and reached down to high-five his nephew, who had remained obediently silent and was watching him with wide eyes. “Good job, Jase. Thanks, little buddy.” Straightening up, Blaine cranked the CD player in the corner to blast Better Than Ezra and picked up Jason to dance him around the living room, singing at the top of his lungs.

Connie emerged from the bathroom. “Not too loud! The red line's on there for a reason.”

“Who cares! I'm in a great mood!” He swung around the room, making Jason giggle at his ridiculous antics. “ _Set him up to let him fall, turn him over in your hands..._ ”

“The neighbors care. Hence the red line on the volume knob.” But Connie was grinning as she leaned against the wall, watching her younger brother be the happiest she'd seen him in a while. “I take it your call went well?”

Blaine's answering smile was infectious. “It's been a good day to be Blaine Anderson, yeah.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which there is a party to attend, and expectations are blown out of the water on all sides.

 

* * *

When the doorbell rang, Kurt lurked in the kitchen and let his father answer it. 

As soon as he'd hung up from his conversation with Blaine, he'd grabbed his yearbook and opened it to see just who was going to be escorting him to Puck's party. It was with surprise that he realized it was the curly haired boy from this morning, the one who'd sat next to Quinn and smiled so encouragingly. And now Kurt remembered why he'd looked vaguely familiar when he passed by later on in the day – remembered the guy who came up to him in the Lima Mall food court and asked to share his table. The place had been packed, so Kurt had simply shrugged in acquiescence. 

They'd never even said a word to each other after the initial exchange. 

Kurt remembered that Blaine was part of the skateboarding crowd, the guys who spent their lunch breaks in the McKinley High parking lot goofing off and performing tricks that made him wonder how none of them had broken their necks. Too, Blaine and Quinn Fabray had been joined at the hip practically since birth; Kurt had always wondered why they never dated. He guessed he had his answer to that now, though it was another thing that surprised him. He hadn't ever considered that Blaine might be gay. 

Then again, why would he have? Their one tenuous link was that they both knew Quinn, and after she'd been hospitalized last fall, even that link had vanished once she'd returned to school and dropped Glee Club. Until today, Blaine Anderson hadn't registered on Kurt's radar of people to notice. No one really had been, he realized with a pang. He'd been too busy focusing on getting out of Lima. 

Kurt looked back down at the yearbook photo, the tiny black and white picture indicating very little of the nervous charm he'd liked during their telephone conversation. Blaine looked nice enough, he guessed – warm eyes, a tumble of dark curls over his forehead, a pleasant smile. But looks weren't everything. How could they have anything in common? What would they talk about? 

It wasn't nice to judge before getting to know someone, he knew, but he really did wonder. Kurt rarely had a moment to himself that wasn't taken up with classes or lessons, didn't have anyone he'd really call a friend, could spot genuine versus counterfeit Chanel from a mile away. Blaine Anderson was always surrounded by people, wasn't in any of the clubs Kurt participated in, and if what the skating crowd generally wore was anything to go by, he didn't give much thought to fashion. 

He was beginning to slightly regret the impulse that had him accepting the other boy's invitation, and now was loitering out of sight in his own kitchen, ready to eavesdrop on his father and Blaine. Kurt fidgeted with the hem of his Calvin Klein vest, with the lapel brooch created from a pair of decorative embroidery scissors and a slender gold chain, with the belt loops on his jeans. Had he made a mistake? 

Too late. Burt swung the front door open to admit Blaine into the house. “Hello, son.” 

“Hello, Mr. Hummel.” Blaine's voice had the same slightly breathy nervousness that had marked their phone conversation, a thin undercurrent of strain cutting through his mellow tones. “Um, thank you for letting Kurt come out tonight.”

“No, thanks for taking him,” Burt laughed, making Kurt roll his eyes and groan inwardly. “You're doin' him a favor. I always told him he didn't get out enough.”

Blaine's responding laugh was low and pleasant. “I sort of said the same thing when I was convincing him to come with me. That he told us all today he hardly knew any of us, so it was time to fix that.” 

“I like it,” was Burt's approving response, and now Kurt sighed. Great, his father was bonding with this weirdly outgoing and talkative stranger. Just what he needed. “Say, Blaine, you want a soda or something while we wait for Kurt? Sometimes he takes a while getting ready.”

“No thank you, sir,” was the polite response. “I don't drink soda. Or anything besides water, really. Sometimes a Slushie.”

Burt grunted in approval. “Clean livin', huh? Kurt wishes I'd be more like that. Like him.” 

“I'm kind of an athlete,” was the surprising response, and Kurt felt his eyebrows go up in mild surprise. “I skateboard, like I actually compete locally and regionally. But I'm trying to go bigger, catch a sponsor's eye so I can go national or even international, so that means no caffeine, alcohol, tobacco or drugs.” He chuckled a little. “My sister's a nurse, so she's still trying to clean up what I eat, but overall I'm pretty good, I guess, yeah.”

Kurt knew this would impress his father, but he couldn't really object – it impressed him as well. He'd always thought the skateboarding kids were a bunch of potheads. And he _knew_ Quinn smoked, he'd seen her. It was nice to know that Blaine wasn't a zombie who just followed along with what his friends did. _Way to break the stereotype,_ he thought to himself, smiling.

Blaine was speaking again in the front room. “Oh, that reminds me. Here, this is my pager number.” The sound of pen scribbling on paper, a ripping noise. “Constance is a nurse, she's on call and keeps odd hours sometimes, so I have this pager so she can reach me if I have to go get my nephew. I check it a lot, so if you need to get a hold of Kurt tonight, just page me and I'll let him know right away.” 

“Oh. Well, that's thoughtful, Blaine, thanks.” Kurt heard the approval in Burt's voice and sighed again. If Blaine kept being so damn considerate and polite, Kurt was going to find it very hard to dodge any future calls or Burt's “subtle” inquiries as to what happened to that nice guy with the skateboards. Because he was going to do that. Absolutely. This was a one-time thing, no matter how much Kurt reluctantly admitted he already liked this guy.

He decided he had to get out to the front room before Burt and Blaine bonded any more. If allowed further conversation they'd probably end up on a date themselves. Kurt tugged an Herm è s scarf from the coat rack and draped it around his neck, knotting it expertly as he sauntered out of the kitchen. “Sorry I took so long. Hello, Blaine.”

Well, he thought about saying that. He really did. And he would have if he hadn't been struck entirely dumb at the sight of Blaine in a long sleeved maroon t-shirt and slightly baggy jeans over battered Vans. The sleeves of the shirt were pushed up a little to reveal toned, tanned arms, and the fabric stretching across his leanly muscled chest showed Kurt that skateboarding had clear and distinct benefits that he'd never realized before. 

Upon catching sight of Kurt, Blaine's smile was dazzling and lit up his entire face, even his already warm hazel eyes seeming to glow brighter with it. “Kurt, wow, hi.” He stepped forward and extended his hand. “You look nice.” 

“Thank you, so do you,” Kurt managed to get out, clasping Blaine's warm, rough hand in a quick handshake. The hand, at least, was as he expected, calloused and brown from the sun. Not like his own meticulously moisturized and cared for hands. Still, Blaine's hand was comforting in its normality, in how it adhered to Kurt's expectations. It was a grounding he sorely needed after being so affected by Blaine's unexpectedly well put-together appearance.

Blaine pulled his hand back and reached for the keys in his jeans pocket. “Shall we?” 

“Yes. Ah, would it be too awful if I wanted to come home early?” Kurt fidgeted now with the fringe on his scarf. “I just really have a lot to do and I want to start early in the morning...”

“Don't listen to him, Blaine,” Burt interrupted. “You make him have fun.”

Blaine blushed and chuckled, a warm, rich sound that made Kurt want to hear it over and over again. “I'll do my best, sir. But of course I can bring you home whenever you want, Kurt.” 

He was feeling more awkward by the moment. Blaine was kind, thoughtful, polite,  _and_ good-looking. It was getting more and more difficult for Kurt to want to maintain his distance. “Well, we'll see,” he replied to both of them, smiling brightly. “Maybe I'll have so much fun I won't want to come home at all.”

Burt snorted. “I'll believe it when I see it. You two have fun and be careful, now.” 

“Thanks, Mr. Hummel.” Blaine beamed and held the door open for Kurt to exit out ahead of him. “That's my car there at the curb, Kurt.” He pointed at a startlingly mundane and ancient olive green Volvo station wagon and grinned at the disbelief on Kurt's face. “Don't knock it,” he chided, unlocking the passenger door before rounding the front of the car to the driver's side. “It's reliable, it's big enough to haul all of my gear, and I can even sleep in it if I have to.”

“It certainly is...utilitarian.” Kurt couldn't help but shake his head as he opened the car door and slid inside. The interior smelled of polyurethane, metal, and ball bearing lubricant, with a faint undertone of sweat and cherry air freshener. It could have been worse, he decided. At least it was clean.

Blaine let himself in and dropped into the driver's seat. “All I ask is that it stay running and carry all my stuff. Which it does.” Slotting the key into the ignition, he cranked the car to life, the engine responding with a healthy roar and the speakers beginning to churn out whatever music Blaine had been listening to on his drive over. 

Oh. 

_I woke up this morning with a bad hangover_

_And my penis was missing again_

_This happens all the time_

_It's detachable_

_Detachable penis_

_Detachable penis_

With a face as red as his shirt, Blaine punched the radio off and returned his hands to the steering wheel, clutching it in a death grip. Kurt pressed his lips together, willing himself not to giggle. “I have,” Blaine stated with great care, “A wallet of CD's under your seat, if you'd like to change it out. The CD player is in the glove compartment.” He pointed to a tangle of wires leading from the tape deck and cigarette lighter into said glovebox. 

“I'll get right on that.” Kurt reached down and pulled out the black leather wallet, his mirth fading into trepidation as he unzipped it. What he found was pretty much exactly what he expected – R.E.M., Roxy Music, The Clash, No Doubt, Foo Fighters. Blaine had wide-ranging and varied tastes in music. None of which coincided with Kurt's own.

That is, until Kurt found the two pages in the back dedicated to Aqua, Madonna, and the original Broadway cast recordings of 'Rent' and 'Phantom of the Opera'. “Well, well, Mr. Anderson, I admit to being pleasantly surprised.” Kurt was smiling as he opened the glovebox and pulled out the Discman there, slotting in 'Aquarium' before punching the stereo back on. “Unless these are Quinn's,” he teased. “You can say they are, if you like. I'll pretend to believe you.” 

“We are talking about Quinn Fabray, right?” Blaine arched an amused eyebrow at Kurt as he flipped on the blinker to change lanes. “The same Quinn who thinks Throwing Muses is upbeat? No, they're legitimately mine. What, you don't think I'm gay enough to own Madonna?”

“No! It...it just didn't seem like your kind of music,” Kurt replied lamely, suddenly ashamed that he'd been caught out judging by appearance, exactly as he'd told himself to stop doing. “I'm sorry.”

Blaine smiled, keeping his eyes on the road. “No, it's fine. I know I don't come off as the Madonna type, and I'm not. But that CD has the songs of hers I do like, 'Vogue' in particular. I mean, the backup dancers in the vi -” He broke his sentence off, coughing slightly. Kurt wondered why. “Um, the Aqua CD is just a lot of fun, as you can clearly hear.” 

“And the Broadway?” Kurt brushed his fingers across the 'Rent' discs. 

“When we lived in England, my mom and I would sometimes take day trips down into London to catch shows in the West End,” he explained. “I may have fought to come back here and graduate from an American high school with all my friends, but I still miss her. 'Phantom' reminds me of the nice times we had when I wasn't being a pain in the ass.” When Blaine shrugged, Kurt could see the nonchalance was a little forced. Still, he managed to keep smiling. “'Rent', though, is just really good in general.”

“That's true. Everyone should hear it.” Kurt smiled and zipped the CD wallet back up, tucking it back under his seat before settling back in. They rode in a companionable silence for a while, occasionally punctuated by one of them beginning to hum and drum along with the cheery electro-pop.

“You really do look nice tonight,” Blaine eventually said, clearing his throat. “Not that you don't always look fantastic.”

“Thank you again.” Kurt looked down at his fingers, twisting them into each other, plucking at his jeans, pulling at his watchband. “Since I've already put my foot in it once, let me continue by telling you that I found you to be a pleasant surprise.” He brushed at his carefully sculpted bangs, a rueful smile on his face. “I confess that I was expecting you to be in giant shorts and an oversized t-shirt like you were at the mall.”

“Ah, so you did remember, finally.” Risking a quick glance at Kurt, Blaine flashed one of his charming, heart-melting smiles. “But I clean up all right, I think, when I feel the situation calls for it.”

“You felt this situation called for it? I'm flattered.” Kurt felt an odd, pleasant warmth beginning to uncoil in the pit of his stomach at the thought. He had always been concentrating so hard on making a good impression himself, it was a novelty to have someone want to make a good impression on _him._

“I can't go out on a date with the best dressed guy in school if I'm looking like a street punk.” Blaine laughed before abruptly cutting off, turning pink again. “Not that this is a date. If you don't want it to be, it's not.”

Kurt's own cheeks were burning a bit as he carefully chose his response. “No...no, I think I'd like it to be.” He slid his gaze over to watch Blaine. “Would you?” 

Blaine's Adam's Apple bobbed as he swallowed, hard. “Very much.” 

“Okay, then. It's a date.” Kurt beamed at Blaine, hoping the other boy saw it from the corner of his eye. When a slow smile dimpled Blaine's cheek, Kurt relaxed back into the seat cushions. It felt like his inner child was clapping and bouncing in glee.

He was on a date. 

* * *

They had to park several blocks away from Puck's house, making small talk on the short stroll to where they could see the party already in full swing. Blaine felt like he could breathe for the first time all day. Things seemed to be going well between he and Kurt. Better than he'd hoped, even; despite feeling like he'd really stepped in it by calling their evening a 'date', Kurt had actually seemed pleased to agree with him. 

It was almost too good to be true. 

They threaded their way through the crowd sprawling out across the front lawn, Blaine being stopped frequently for backslaps, hugs, or high fives from dozens of his fellow students. He noticed Kurt looking on with bemusement at first – then as they kept trying to proceed into the house and still kept getting stopped, the expression began to melt into sadness and confusion. “Hey.” Blaine paused and turned to the other boy, worried. “We just got here, you can't be sad already. What's up?” 

“Nothing. Well, it's silly.” Kurt shoved his hands into his pockets while Blaine watched him. He seemed hesitant, as if trying to be careful with his word selection. “It's just, I've been here for all four years of high school, and you've been here for only two. Not even consecutively.”

“Yeah...” Blaine was pretty sure he knew where this was going, and put a reassuring smile on his face. Taking Kurt by the elbow – and ignoring the electric zing he felt going up from his hand straight to his heart – he steered him to a relatively quiet spot near the back door of the house. “So?”

“So...everyone knows who you are, and they like you. But they're staring at me like I'm some kind of zoo animal.” Kurt wrapped his arms around his waist and cast an unhappy glance around the room. “It's not a great feeling.”

Blaine reached out and tugged Kurt's arms free. “That's why you're here, though, isn't it?” He made his smile even more bright, trying to win the other boy over. “So people can see you're a real person and maybe get to know you?” 

“Yes...” Kurt hesitated again. “I suppose.”

“If you want to leave, I can take you home. I promised you that.” He wanted to reach out and touch Kurt's face, but chose to stuff his own hands into his pockets instead. “Or, if you decide to stay and end up thinking you don't like anyone, you're only going to be around until fall anyway, so it's not like you have to see them again.” Now he arched his eyebrows comically, wiggling them until Kurt burst out with a musical laugh that melted Blaine completely. 

Still, he managed to keep his composure. “That's better. You look much nicer when you smile.” 

This made Kurt blush again, and he ducked his head. “Thank you.” Taking a deep breath, he looked around the room once more, but his gaze was more curious than bothered now. “So, here's a question: how exactly is Puck getting away with this?” 

“Juvenile delinquent, absent father, overnight working mother, and his little sister is having a sleepover at Mercedes' house with _her_ little sister,” Blaine replied promptly, ticking the points off on his fingers. “He'll stay up all day tomorrow cleaning and he'll make his mom breakfast and basically treat her like a queen as a thank you. He's kind of a dick, but he's good to his mom.”

“Huh. Good to know.” Kurt shook his head and stepped towards the back door, placing his hand on the knob before turning to look at Blaine inquisitively. “Should we go say hi to him? What do people do at these things?”

Blaine couldn't help but smile. Kurt's social cluelessness was somehow painful and adorable all at once. “They drink, if they want. They listen to the music.” He waved his hand around, where three different stereo systems were playing Live, Cherry Poppin' Daddies, and Notorious B.I.G. all at once in a cacophony that inexplicably managed to not be entirely horrible. “Quinn will be in a room somewhere playing a lot of songs she wrote this year. Some people might make out. And yes, we should go say hello to Puck.” 

The man himself was outside tending an elaborate fountain with streams of utterly mysterious, undoubtedly lethal purple liquid cascading from one bowl into the next. Their classmates were dancing by – the outdoor stereo playing a collection of 80's hits that was currently toora-looraing its way through 'Come On, Eileen' – and dipping their red plastic cups into it, then boogieing away while tipping the contents down their eager throats. Blaine shook his head and grinned at the sight before reaching to touch Puck's shoulder and get his attention. 

“Blaine, hey!” Puck turned away from the fountain, plucking the cigarette from his mouth so he could move in for a brotherly hug. “And, look at that, Kurt Hummel. Nice to see you.”

“Hi, there.” Kurt wiggled his fingers in a little wave and managed a smile.

Puck reached down under the table the fountain was on and pulled out a blue and white bag that made a cheerful jingling noise. “Listen, Anderson,” he began, taking Blaine's hand and wrapping his fingers around the canvas. “I'm gonna need you to be the Keymaster. Very responsible dude you came here with tonight, Kurt,” he directed at the bemused teen. 

“Oh, no, I was just going to circulate -” Blaine was dismayed, protesting and trying to shove the bag back to Puck. “I'm here with – we were going to -”

“You know I don't trust anyone but you to make sure people leave here safe, Blaine,” Puck chided, turning his attention back to the fountain and pouring in a splash of Everclear. “Thanks, buddy.”

They wandered away from the table, Blaine gazing morosely at the bag. “What's a Keymaster?” Kurt asked, curious. 

“Basically, I have to take everyone's keys, and before I give them back, I have to judge whether or not they're safe to drive.” His expression was still glum, he knew. This wasn't how he'd planned for the night to go. 

“So it's an honor?” Kurt sounded so sprightly, Blaine couldn't help but offer a wry smile in return.

“No, not really.” As he was about to apologize for how this would affect their evening, Blaine felt himself tackled up against the aluminum siding of Puck's house, his breath rushing out in a whoosh at the impact. “Gah, Mike!”

Mike Chang was either already three sheets to the wind or he was riding high on the excitement of the day. Or both. “Dude! We graduated! Check us out!” Mike raised his hand for a high five, and too late, Blaine realized his keys were in it. Pain bloomed through his own hand as the sharp metal bit into his skin before he dumped the keys into the bag. 

“Gaaah,” he gurgled out, willing the sudden tears of agony in his eyes not to fall in front of Kurt, who was looking on with a slightly horrified expression on his face. “I wish you hadn't done that with your keys _in_ your hand.”

“I love you, man!” was Mike's only response as he reeled off, shouting, “Woohoo! Yeah!” at the rest of the unfazed partygoers. Blaine peeled himself off of the wall and began to walk back to Kurt, shaking his hand out as he did.

Before he could reach his destination, though, they were both intercepted – Kurt by Rachel Berry, who smiled and whisked him off, and Blaine by a guy with shaggy blond hair falling into his eyes. “Hey. Sam Evans,” the newcomer introduced himself, sticking his hand out to be shaken. “Great party, right?” 

“Uh, yeah...” Blaine replied, mystified.

“So, listen, I know we don't really know each other, but I had to know.” Sam's eyes were earnest in his curiosity. “You're here with Kurt Hummel? Like, _with_ him?”

Blaine frowned, hoping there wasn't about to be a problem. “Yeah...” 

But Sam only leaned in to whisper, licking his lips. “So how'd you do it? How'd you get the elusive Kurt Hummel to go out with you?” 

“I called him up and asked him, like everyone does,” Blaine answered with a shrug. Sam's eyes grew wider, and he shook his bangs away to gawk a bit more.

“Yeah, but, like, how? What are you, dude?”

“I...” Blaine wasn't sure how to respond. “I'm Blaine Anderson, man.” 

Sam nodded, a slightly awed expression on his face. “Thanks. Thanks, man.” He began to back away, smiling and continuing to nod. “That really gives me hope.” 

“Okay, then...” Blaine grinned and nodded back. “Um, hey, I'm gonna need your keys.”

* * *

Rachel had appeared like a specter at Kurt's elbow, her bony little fingers gripping into his arm in a way he knew was going to leave bruises. “Ow, Rachel.” 

“I'm so glad you're here,” she babbled at him, her brightly manic smile stretching from ear to ear. “Come with me! There's so many cute guys here to look at.”

“You have a boyfriend,” Kurt objected, trying and failing to pull his arm away. He wasn't sure how to deal with his bizarre friendship with Rachel while he was out on a date with Blaine. Everyone at McKinley, especially the Glee Club, knew the story of how Finn Hudson had played Rachel _and_ Blaine's best friend Quinn off of each other for two years, culminating in Quinn's suicide attempt after Finn chose Rachel. He suddenly felt even more awkward than usual. “Maybe you should go be with him? And I'll get back to my _date_?”

“Oh, come on, Kurt.” With a strength that was surprising in such a tiny girl, she dragged him over to an empty bench and tugged him down to sit next to her. “We've graduated today! I just wanted to talk to you. It's a big deal.”

Clearly, she wasn't going to give up until she'd gotten her heart-to-heart out. “All right, Rachel.” He pasted a smile onto his face. “What's going on?” 

“I know we aren't the best of friends,” Rachel began, covering his hands with hers. “And we've always been so competitive.”

“Yes...”

“But I wanted to say that if it hadn't been for you, Kurt, constantly pushing me to be better...” She trailed off before glancing back up at him with big, limpid brown eyes that for once Kurt was pretty sure were sincere in their gooey gratitude. “If it weren't for you, I'd never have pushed myself hard enough to get into NYADA. So I wanted to thank you.”

He felt his mouth drop open in surprise. “Oh, I...wow.” This evening was leaving him even more at a loss for words than usual. “Thank you, Rachel, and you're welcome. Honestly, you did the same for me.” 

“I did?” Her smile was back, and now she clutched his hands and hers to her chest, so happy it was blinding. “Did I really?”

“You really did,” he assured her, spontaneously pulling her into a hug. “Did you hear I got into RADA?”

“ _No._ ” She was shocked and happy when he pulled back to look at her. “Really?”

“Mmhm. Got the word today.” It still filled his heart with joy just to think about it. Electricity seemed to zing all through him. He'd really done it. “I'm going to London.”

Rachel lurched forward for another hug, squeezing until he thought he might split. “Oh, _Kurt_. That's so amazing! Congratulations!” She pushed him back, looking him up and down with something he thought was pride. It was touching. 

Then in the next minute came the same foot-in-mouth Rachel Berry he'd always known. “So how come you came here with _Blaine Anderson_ , then?” Her head tilted to the side, spilling her shiny chestnut hair over her shoulder as she wrinkled her nose. “I mean...he's nice, I guess...” 

“Yes. He's nice.” Kurt felt his smile becoming a bit tighter. Rachel couldn't help her personality...much. “He's nice.”

“But how did it _happen_?” She was genuinely curious and harmlessly clueless. On a night like tonight, where things were going well in a way he'd never imagined, where they were both excited about their futures, he decided to forgive her for being considerably tactless. Not that she would make it easy for him to do so. “I mean, you're you, and he's...”

“He's great,” Kurt replied firmly, squeezing her hands with far more gentleness than he actually felt. “He called me up and asked me, and he made me laugh when he did it.” He glanced down at their hands. “Besides, fortune favors the bold. He was bold.”

Rachel smirked. “Well, he certainly must be more than he appears on the surface if he got you to agree to go out with him.” Her voice dropped as she leaned in. “You've turned down everyone who ever asked you out. That Gavroche guy at the NYADA mixer, Jesse St. James during his sexual identity crisis...” 

“Dating Gavroche would be like dating a more frightening version of myself, so no thank you,” Kurt snapped testily. “And I wouldn't wish Jesse on my worst enemy.” He pulled his hands away and wiped them down his jeans, thinking of how he could explain. “Blaine's real. He knows who he is and makes no apologies for it. I can respect that. I _do_ respect it. It's something I'm surprised you can't see.”

She was clearly taken aback. “I didn't realize you knew him so well.” 

“I don't.” Kurt glanced up to see Blaine standing on a chair to see over the crowd, clearly scanning it for Kurt. When he spotted Kurt and Rachel on the bench, he grinned joyously and lifted his hand in a thumbs up, silently asking if things were okay. Kurt beamed and nodded back, waving a bit. “But what I know, I like.”

“Then I'm glad for you, Kurt.” Rachel smiled and patted his knee. “I'm sorry if I was offensive.”

“You were, but it's you, so I expect it,” he teased, standing up and squeezing her hand one last time. “Listen, I'm going to mingle, okay? Congratulations on NYADA. You're going to take New York by storm.”

He began to head towards where he'd just seen Blaine, but before he could get to the spot he saw his date's curly head disappearing into the house. It didn't take long for Kurt to decide to follow, cursing when Blaine was all too quickly swallowed by the crowd. Kurt didn't want to push too hard against the teeming mass of humanity, didn't want them to push back. Electing to duck into a side room instead, he leaned against the wall for a moment, eyes closed. He breathed deeply to settle himself before opening his eyes to blink at what was before him. 

Quinn was perched on a couch, her pink hair falling around her pretty but grim face as she tuned her guitar. Jeff Pauling sat at her feet, absorbed in playing with a tiny object that took Kurt a second to recognize as a Tamagotchi toy. Tina Cohen-Chang was curled up next to Quinn, pulling strands of her own blue-streaked black waves through her fingers. 

“I wrote 63 songs about Finn this year,” Quinn murmured, strumming her fingers down the strings, the resultant ringing chord hanging in the air. “I'm gonna play all of them tonight.”

Tina's hand froze where it was tangled in her hair, and she bit her lip. “Finn's here.” 

Quinn stilled, but Kurt saw her fingers squeeze white around the neck of the guitar for a moment before she went on, noodling out chords and tilting her head to listen. “Well, yeah. He's Puck's best friend. Of course he's here. No big deal.” 

“You _did_ slit your wrists over him,” Jeff reminded her, leaning his head back next to Quinn's knee. “So...kind of it is.”

“What was it like, Quinn?” Tina leaned over, her concern replaced with nosiness. “Like, did you see a white light like they always say you do? Did your life flash before your eyes?”

Jeff reached up to swat Tina's foot. “She talked about it on 'Good Morning, Lima Ohio', Tina!” 

“Oh, my God, stop, you guys. Jesus, I'm _fine_.” But to Kurt, Quinn looked anything but fine, her face sad and strained under a veneer of bravado. “I have been through hell, and I'm alive, okay?” Her fingers moved to play a tune that Kurt took a second to realize was a slower version of Alanis Morrissette's 'You Oughta Know', and his heart broke a little more for her. They'd never been close, but Glee was a family, even if she had quit. And Quinn had always been kind to him.

Her voice cut through his thoughts. “Is Rachel here, too?” 

When he looked up, he realized she'd directed the question at him, her eyes dark and her jaw set. Kurt licked his lips nervously before replying. “Yes. Yes, she is. I've seen her.” 

Quinn nodded, swallowing and continuing to stare at him hard. “Don't pity me, Kurt.” 

“I wasn't -”

“Don't.” The faint music stopped as she lifted her strumming hand off of her guitar and pointed it at him. “Don't lie to me. I know you feel sorry for me. I just want you to stop, okay?” 

Jeff and Tina looked at each other nervously, and it was clear to Kurt that they were wondering if they should intervene. He decided to respond to her before they could. “All right. I'm sorry.” 

“Whatever.” She tilted her head down again and started playing something new that he didn't recognize, something intense and angry and full of bitterness. “If you want to do anything for me, Kurt, do this one thing: don't do to Blaine what Finn did to me. Don't make him feel that way.”

He was stunned. “I wouldn't. Not ever.” 

“Good. Because I will hunt you down, I promise I will. Blaine's too good a guy to be ripped apart.” Her voice was low and dangerous, and Kurt felt it was made even more frightening by her refusal to look at him again. 

He settled back against the wall as she began to sing, marveling that her pretty, delicately clear alto could rasp with such fury. 

_I gave you everything, everything_

_And you took without mercy_

_I gave you all I had, all I had_

_And you never said thanks_

_Now all that I have given you_

_You gift to someone else_

_And you've never once apologized_

_For making me hate myself..._

With a sigh, Kurt slipped from the room, unable to bear such loathing on a night that he felt so happy. He decided to go look for Blaine again. Kurt was wondering if he could contrive a reason to hold the other boy's hand, to see if the lightning warmth he'd felt earlier in the evening when Blaine grasped his arm could be brought back to shoot electric through his fingers and toes. 

He bit his lip when he realized that he'd already reversed his stance from the beginning of the evening. Rather than wanting to dodge Blaine's calls in the future, Kurt wanted to touch him, to see him again. He was even planning their next evening together, and they hadn't finished this one yet. It had only just begun. 

Quinn's warning buzzed in his ears until he made the mental effort to push it away. W _orry about later tomorrow,_ Kurt told himself firmly, feeling a grin spread across his face as he finally caught sight of Blaine re-entering the house through the front door, his face frowning in concentration as he peered into the Key Bag. _Tonight's the time to live in the now._


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As the night winds down, things go wrong, and yet somehow end up somewhere approaching right.

 

* * *

“Blaine Anderson, there you are!”

Blaine froze in place, Key Bag clutched in his fingers. He'd come out to the front lawn to see if there was anyone whose keys he hadn't already collected. That was when he was cornered by Miss Pillsbury, the McKinley High guidance counselor. He'd been ignoring her notes summoning him for career counseling for the last several weeks. Apparently his luck had just run out. 

His dismay only grew exponentially as she dug around in her smart little green leather tote and pulled out a large file with “Blaine Anderson” emblazoned across the front. “All right, Blaine. Let's go ahead and get this done.” She looked up at him and shook her finger in mock chastisement. “You've been dodging me for a month!” 

Blaine squirmed uncomfortably, his fingers tightening around the neck of the bag. “Miss Pillsbury, really -” 

“Every graduate in that house put something down as a potential career except for you, Blaine!” Holding up the file, she shook it at him. “All the studies say the same thing – _now_ is the time that you pick your future.”

“But why?” He spread his hands out and shrugged. “I barely know what I want for breakfast tomorrow. And with all due respect, people conducting studies like that, they don't know me, so how come they get to have say over what I should do with my life?”

Miss Pillsbury's smile was a little strained and even patronizing as she reached forward to pat his arm. “They're experts, Blaine. It's what they do. They've been doing it for a long time.”

Blaine couldn't help but snort. “The only person who's an expert on me  _is_ me, Miss Pillsbury. I've been me for 18 years, and all I know for sure about my future career is what I don't want, which is to follow my dad into the military.”

“You do seem a bit strongwilled for that,” she replied, her smile a bit more genuine now. “But will you at least let me set you an appointment at Columbus Community College? You're just so bright, Blaine. I hate to see you waste your potential.”

“I'd rather take my time and decide where to best apply my potential than waste time screwing around doing what people _think_ I ought to be doing to get it together,” he retorted. “And come on, my grades are better than CCC. If I wanted to go to college right now, I'd have better choices and you know it.” He tilted a knowing grin at her to soften the sharpness he heard in his voice. She was only trying to help. “It's sweet of you to worry, Ms. P. It really is. But I'm just concentrating on the here and now. That, I kind of have figured out.”

She arched an eyebrow. “And what exactly do you have figured out?”

“Skateboarding,” Blaine replied impishly, scrunching his face up in a grin. “And spending time with Kurt Hummel.”

“Oh.” Miss Pillsbury's already large eyes got wider. “Well, I can hardly object to that. Maybe some of his ambition and dedication will rub off on you.”

“I'm not holding my breath.” He chuckled at her exasperated sigh and held out the Key Bag. “Keys?”

“Oh, my goodness, no,” Miss Pillsbury replied, clutching her tote bag close to her chest and looking horrified. “I can't go in there. God only knows how clean those cups are. I only came to see you.”

“Seriously?” A surprised bark of laughter shot out of his mouth before he could stop it. “Okay, then. Thank you?”

“Of course.” She fidgeted around with the straps of her tote bag for a moment before reaching out to seize him in an awkward hug. “Please at least think about a long term future, okay? Can you promise me that?”

“I promise to think about it. Cross my heart and hope to die.” He criss-crossed his heart and grinned. “Thanks for looking out, Miss Pillsbury.”

She smiled and waved as she climbed into her little compact car, carefully pulling out and away. As soon as she was safely out of sight, Blaine chuckled and headed back into the house, stopping only once to collect keys from Rachel Berry, who had decided, rather confusingly, that she wanted to see if Puck's special punch “tasted like purple.” Since asking what that meant would end up with him getting involved in a lengthy conversation he wasn't  _that_ interested in, he merely accepted the gold star keychain with a polite smile and dumped it into the bag as he walked into the house.

When he looked up from his task, Kurt was standing in front of him. “Kurt! Hey!”

“Hi yourself, Keymaster.” A shy smile turned up Kurt's lips and lit his blue eyes bright. “Thought I'd come find you and see how you were doing.”

“It's a dirty job, but someone's got to do it.” Blaine sighed in mock exasperation. “But are you having fun?”

“I am, actually.” Kurt seemed surprised by the very notion. “I really, really am. And I just saw Quinn back there.” He pointed back over his shoulder. “Blaine...is she going to be okay?”

Blaine sighed. “Eventually? Maybe? If Finn can stay away from her and let her heal in peace, sure.” He rubbed a hand down his face, pinching at the bridge of his nose. “We keep telling her to go out of state for college, but she refuses. I don't know what else to do. Just be there for her, is all.”

An odd expression flitted across Kurt's face before he responded. “She's lucky to have you, Blaine. You're a good friend to her.”

“I don't know...” Blaine trailed off as his cheeks burned. “I wasn't here for the last couple of years. I couldn't do anything while the whole big mess was actually going on. I got home just in time for her to land in the hospital.”

“But you did get here. You're here now.” Kurt shrugged and let the shy smile slip across his face again. “Now is when she seems to need you, and here you are. She's lucky.”

“Yeah. I guess.” Blaine glanced down at his feet, trying to process what he felt was undeserved praise. “I do what I can. I should go say hi.” He looked back up at Kurt. “Where did you say she was?”

Kurt turned and pointed. “She's in that room...” His voice trailed off, eyes widening in horror.

“The room that Finn Hudson is just about to walk into?” Blaine began to shove through the crowd in the hallway. “Coming through. Move it!”

“That would be the room, yes.” Kurt followed close behind, apologizing to the people Blaine was pushing aside in his haste to intercept Finn. Working together in this way, they managed to make reasonably swift progress through the mob, arriving at the doorway just as McKinley's star quarterback was about to go through it. 

Blaine reached up and snagged Finn by the collar of his rugby shirt. “Hold your horses, Hudson.”

“Blaine, hey.” Finn's omnipresent cheerful grin was firmly in place as he turned to glance down at Blaine. He looked and smelled entirely drunk. “What's up?”

“I gotta tell you that you're not allowed in that room, Finn.” He tugged at the collar clutched in his fingers, heedless of the fact that Finn was much, much taller and heavier than he was. “Not a good idea. You know you're not supposed to go anywhere near Quinn.”

“C'mon, Blaine,” Finn whined. “I just wanna say hi. No harm in that, right?” He turned on all of his considerable charm – and there was plenty of it, enough to keep two girls forgiving him as he strung them along for two years – but Blaine shook his head.

“I really don't want to find out, Finn.” Shoving around in front of the drunk teenager, Blaine faced up to him and hoped he looked like someone who wasn't going to take no for an answer. His resolve was strengthened when he caught a glimpse of Quinn standing by a couch in the room, white faced and stricken while Jeff pleaded with her to sit back down. He dropped his voice to a whisper. “Come on, man. Give it up. Can't you see this is no good for her? Look at her!”

Finn did look, but all he said was, “I just wanna say hello.” His jaw was set in a mulish expression, and he looked like he was thinking about just bowling Blaine over and going for what he wanted.

Blaine threw his hands in the air. “Okay, well, this is me telling you that you can't. That girl in there wrote over 60 songs this year. 60 songs about pain and agony and you.” He swallowed hard and worked up the nerve to shove gently at the much taller boy, forcing him to begin walking backwards or lose his tenuous balance. Kurt slipped past the two of them as soon as there was room, headed straight for Quinn and causing Blaine's heart to melt in gratitude. “Finn, quit screwing with her head, all right? Quinn doesn't deserve this. She's beautiful and talented, she's going to go places -”

Back now firmly pressed against the hallway wall, Finn could only look astonished. “Of course she is. Why do you think I keep the tapes she made me? I'm gonna get to say I knew her when.”

“Not if you don't leave her alone, you won't.” Blaine took Finn by the arm and began to guide him down the hall, away from the room. He could hear Quinn begin to slam out a furious tune on her guitar that seemed to be about Finn, Oedipus complexes, and anatomically improbable feats, and he winced. “Finn, please. Give her room, okay? Give her time. Be considerate of her just this once.”

“I didn't mean to...” Finn was mumbling as they wandered out to the back yard, where Puck was back tending his punch fountain. He took one look at Blaine's angry face and nodded, tacitly agreeing to try and keep a better eye on his best friend.

“I know you didn't,” Blaine ground out. “It doesn't matter. Go have another drink, go find Rachel and make out with her, just leave Quinn alone.”

“N'kay, man.” Finn wandered off into the crowd, looking for Rachel. Puck glanced apologetically at Blaine.

“Dude, I'm sorry. I thought he'd be better than this. Quinn all right?”

“She'll be fine,” Kurt chimed in, arriving next to Blaine looking a bit frazzled and breathless. “More or less. I asked if she wanted to go home,” he explained, turning to Blaine. “But she said no.”

“Yeah, that's Quinn. Listen, Blaine, I can keep Finn occupied for a while.” An evil grin stretched across Puck's face. “I got a Muddy the Mud Hen costume here somewhere. I'll dress him up in it and sic the party on him. That should keep him out of trouble for a while and -” he winked, “ - you can hang with your boy, here.”

“Oh, no, this I have to see,” Kurt insisted in delight. “A six and a half foot Mud Hen fleeing from a crowd of McKinley graduates? I'm not budging from this spot.” He pressed his hands to his face and glanced over at Blaine. “Oh, please say we can watch.”

“Your wish is my command,” Blaine assured him with a laugh, though he was privately dismayed that Kurt hadn't wanted to spend time alone. Still, he couldn't deny that he wanted to watch the debacle himself.

“I'm on it,” promised Puck, starting to lope off after Finn. “Yo! Hudson!”

This left the boys standing in companionable silence by the punch fountain for a while, people watching and enjoying each other's company. Kurt broke first. “I really am having a nice time tonight. Thank you for inviting me.”

“Thank you for coming.” Blaine glanced over and smiled softly. “I'm just sorry we're not getting much of a chance to talk. It makes things pretty not-date-like.”

Kurt let out a laugh. “No, but it's a good start. And that reminds me.” He arched one eyebrow and let his lips curl in a speculative bit of a smily. “You took a pretty big chance, asking me out when we don't know each other.”

“How so?” Inclining his head, Blaine smirked a little and waited for an answer. Kurt reached over and poked him in the arm.

“What if I wasn't gay?” Now both eyebrows were up, and Kurt tilted his head. “It was a bit presumptuous of you, I have to say.”

“Please,” Blaine scoffed. “You were in Glee with my best friend for two years.”

“So?”

“So, of the dozens, scores of reasons that Quinn gave me to try and deter me from being interested in you...funnily enough, you being straight wasn't one of them.” He stuck his tongue out and blew a raspberry. “So there.”

“Ah.” Kurt smiled with a touch of smugness and tucked his fingers into his pockets, rocking back and forth a little on his boot heels. “So you've been interested in me for a while, then?”

When he realized his comment had revealed more than he'd intended, Blaine covered his face in chagrin. He'd never lost the upper hand in a conversation so quickly or thoroughly in his life. Kurt's presence seemed to have a deleterious effect on his ability to think before he spoke. “Oh, crap.”

“Hmm,” was all Kurt replied, an all too pleased hum rumbling from his throat. “Interesting.”

Blaine opened his mouth to retort that no, there was not in fact anything interesting about it at all, but that was when Finn came streaking out of the house dressed as a giant Mud Hen, and all thought of witty banter was lost in the thrill of joining the crowd that was busy ripping handfuls of yellow feathers off of him.

* * *

Half an hour later, Puck was leading a shredded but jubilant Finn back into his house to change out of the bedraggled bird costume, followed by a dwindling crowd of party-goers. Kurt and Blaine remained in the back yard, plucking feathers out of their hair and clothing. As he dumped a handful of synthetic bird covering into a trashcan and processed what he was doing, Kurt couldn't help but laugh at the absurdity of all of it.

“What?” Blaine tugged at a feather that had gotten caught in the waistband of his jeans. He had to pull his shirt up a little to do it, revealing a strip of tanned skin and defined hipbone. Kurt lost his train of thought entirely as his throat went dry at the sight. This was some kind of karmic retribution for teasing Blaine earlier, he decided. 

“Hey. Kurt? You there?”

“Yes! Hello.” He swallowed hard and blinked to meet Blaine's eyes, relieved to see only curiosity in their amber depths. “Sorry, what?”

“I was just wondering why you laughed.” Blaine released the hem of his shirt, covering the tantalizing view. Taking a deep breath, Kurt tried to balance himself and recollect his thoroughly scattered thoughts. _You are not like this_ , he told himself sternly. _You are calm, cool, and collected. No matter how hot this guy is._

“It's just...” he started, and immediately paused, taking care with his words before continuing. “I haven't had this much fun in years, I suppose. Silly fun, I mean. I have fun!” He felt a panicked need to clarify that he wasn't a complete nerd, and a small, detached part of his brain wondered why before he shoved the wandering inquiry to the back of his thoughts. “Reading and dance class, those are fun. Music is fun. But this is just...” Kurt stopped, annoyed that he couldn't work out how exactly to explain it.

“What I think you're saying is that you're finding being a normal teenager to be fun.” Blaine's eyes twinkled with good humor as he cast Kurt a lopsided grin. “Am I close?”

Kurt laughed again, nodding. “Yes. Close enough.” He dumped another clump of feathers into the trash can and glanced up at Blaine's hair, noticing a forgotten yellow pinfeather clinging to the dark curls. “Oh. You have a -” he pointed at the stray bit of yellow.

“What? Where?” Blaine raked a hand through his hair, missing the feather completely. “Is it a feather?”

“Yes. It's just – it's there -” Kurt pointed again, and Blaine tried again, but it was still a failure. Sucking his lower lip in between his teeth, Kurt took his courage in both hands and reached to get the feather himself, sinking his fingers into the dark tangle of curls to pick it out.

To his surprise, they were soft, only a little stiff with hair product. He spent a moment or two longer than strictly necessary extracting the feather, finding his gaze locked with Blaine's as he did. The curiosity that had been in them was gone now, replaced with interest, wariness, and something else Kurt couldn't identify...and wasn't sure he was ready to, yet.

Nothing about this evening was going as he'd expected.

“There,” he breathed, pulling his hand away with something akin to regret. He couldn't pull his eyes away from Blaine's, though, couldn't stop himself from trying to decipher all he saw there. A new intensity crackled between them that utterly disrupted any comfortable companionship they'd felt at the start of the night. It was enough to make a tiny tendril of panic start to wind its way through Kurt as he tried to deal with the unfamiliar sensations and emotions rocketing through his brain.

He'd always felt that the literary trope of “drowning in one's eyes” was ridiculous and overdone, and he'd torn it apart in countless essays and tests. Yet he had no other way to explain how he was feeling exactly at this moment. And he couldn't move his eyes away from Blaine's. 

“Excuse me. I want my keys.” Rachel's strident, teary voice broke the tension stretched between them, bringing them back to reality – or as close to it as they could manage, now. They turned to face her as one, a frown furrowing Blaine's brow as he took in her red, swollen eyes and tearstreaked cheeks. He reached out a hand to tip her chin up so he could look more closely.

“Are you okay to drive?” Blaine asked, leaning in to check her eyes. Kurt wondered as well. She looked generally sober, but also deeply, terribly upset. He'd only seen her three hours ago, what could have happened?

Rachel swatted Blaine's hand away from her face. “I'm fine,” she snapped, her voice cracking a little. “I only had a taste of that awful punch Puck made and I hated it, so I've been drinking Diet Coke all night. Not like stupid Finn with his stupid Zimas.” At Blaine's dubious look, she stepped back and lifted up one foot, balancing on it while she touched her nose with alternating hands and reciting the alphabet backwards. “See? Sober. Give me my keys, Blaine.”

But Blaine was frowning even harder and looking around the back yard. “Rachel,” he began, digging her keys out of the bag and holding them just out of her reach. “What's going on with Finn?”

She sniffled, wiping her nose on her sleeve until Kurt took horrified pity on her and extracted a handkerchief from his vest pocket for her to use. “Nothing anymore,” she hiccupped with a noisy accompanying blow of her nose. “We are absolutely and completely done.” She tried to hand the used handkerchief back to Kurt, who recoiled. _Gross._

Finn, now back in his normal clothing, stumbled out of the back door, Puck in hot pursuit. “Rach, I'm sorry!” He made a beeline for where she stood, bellowing apologies as he went.

But Rachel was having none of it. While Blaine was distracted by Finn's drunken shouting, she bounced up and snatched her keys out of his hand. With a defiant toss of her hair, she stormed off. “Keep away from me, Finn!”

“But baby!”

“Just get away!” she shrieked, heading through the back gate to get to her car. Blaine looked even more unhappy as he watched her go.

“I've got a bad feeling about this,” he began, only to be interrupted as Mike Chang tackled him for the second time that evening. “Ow! Jesus, Mike! You can just hug me if you're so excited to see me, you know!”

“Dude,” Mike howled. “Gimme my Firebird keys!”

“Ha ha! _No_.” Blaine shoved Mike off with a laugh, getting to his feet before helping the drunken Chang – now even more thoroughly trashed than he'd been earlier – to stand wobbly, but upright. “You _must_ chill. I totally hid your keys.”

“Dude!” Mike was pouting, but Blaine shook his head and just hugged him.

“No way. Go sleep it off.”

“What for? I'm buzzed!” With a lurch, Mike pulled away, spun on his heel – and went down like a ton of the world's happiest bricks, snoring as soon as he hit the ground. The three other boys just blinked down at him in bemusement.

Blaine looked up first, catching Kurt's eye. “We'd better go look for Quinn. I don't like what's going on with Finn and Rachel, it always involves her somehow when they get like this.”

“I'm right here.” Quinn's voice was soft and blurred as she stood in the yard swaying gently, eyes unfocused and arms wrapped around her waist. Jeff stood behind her with her guitar case clutched in one hand, the other on her elbow to keep her up. He looked deeply unhappy.

“Quinn.” Blaine thrust the bag of keys at Puck and moved to grab his friend, pulling her into his arms just as her knees seemed to give out. “Quincy, no, what happened?”

“Finn said he had to go piss,” Puck volunteered, appearing severely uncomfortable. Kurt understood why with his next words. “I let him go by himself. Don't look at me like that!” He held his hands up defensively, backing away from a furious Jeff and Blaine. “I didn't think he could get in trouble just going to the john!”

“Unfortunately,” Jeff bit out, glaring at Puck, “That's about when Quinn decided _she_ needed to go. They ran into each other when she was coming out.” He reached out to rub a hand on Quinn's back. “Finn begged her to talk to him, apparently, and it didn't go well.”

"He said he was breaking up with Rachel since she's going to NYADA and he's staying in Ohio," Quinn whispered in a voice so broken it hurt Kurt to hear it. "Then he asked me to sleep with him."

Blaine's jaw went tight and he hugged her closer. "Damn it. He would never have pulled that sober. What the hell, Puck, how could you take your eyes off of him?"

"Whoa, I'm not walking him into the bathroom and holding his junk while he takes a leak," Puck protested. "I'm sorry this happened, but my babysitting is not full service, dude. I got a party to run, I have to make sure people don't trash my mom's house." He lit a cigarette and glared at Blaine. "How come _you_ weren't at her side to keep Finn away from her?"

It obviously pained Blaine to acknowledge that Puck was right, but he did so anyway, nodding tersely. "Fair enough, Puck, I'm sor -" He broke off and sniffed at the air. "Quinn. You smell like tequila. Like a _lot_ of tequila."

"Santana Lopez pretty much poured half a bottle down her throat when she saw what was going on," Jeff explained, shaking his head. "Then she brought her back to me and said she was my problem."

"Shit. She's not supposed to drink while she's on Prozac." Slightly panicked, Blaine pushed Quinn back, keeping a firm grip on her shoulders as he scanned her face. Kurt could see that her eyes were half closed and her head lolled a little too loosely for his comfort. "Quinn. Come on, Quincy. When did you last take your Prozac?"

"After lunch," she mumbled, and Blaine heaved a sigh of clear relief before pulling her back into an embrace. "I'm fine. Sleepy, though."

"No kidding." He scooped her up in his arms. "Puck, sorry, you're on your own as Keymaster. I'm getting her out of here. Jeff, Kurt, give me a hand getting her into my car?"

“Don't wanna go home,” Quinn muttered as they made their way through the house, looping her arms around Blaine's neck.

“Don't worry, I'm not taking you home yet,” he assured her. “We'll drive around a while, okay?” Glancing over at Kurt, he looked a little worried. “Is that all right with you? Or do you want me to take you home? It's kind of early yet, but I will if you want.”

“No, it's fine,” Kurt hastened to tell him. “Please, I'd...I'd rather stay with you. I can help keep Quinn awake until she sobers up. Besides, my dad pretty much _wants_ me to stay out late, I can't go home now.”

Blaine smiled gratefully at him before turning his attention to Jeff, who was opening the front door for them. “Jeff? You want to come along?” 

“Nah, I'll go home. Enough craziness for one night.” He shifted Quinn's guitar case to his other hand. “Skate park tomorrow?”

“Maybe. Depends on stuff.” Blaine slid an opaque glance at Kurt, who wondered what it meant as they walked the blocks to Blaine's car in silence. “Oop, okay, here we are. Down you go, Quincy.” He carefully lowered her to the ground, propping her against the Volvo while he fished his keys out of his pocket. “Um, Kurt? Can you sit in back with her, please? I'd do it myself, but I don't know if you can drive stick.”

“No, that's fine.” Kurt nodded, reaching out to help the limp girl into the back seat while Jeff loaded the guitar into the back of the wagon. “Hey, Quinn,” he murmured into her ear, settling her under his arm.

“Hey, Kurt.” She smiled faintly up at him, leaning her head back against his shoulder. “You smell really nice.”

“I would like to say the same to you, I really would,” he replied dryly, with a playful tap on her nose, “I'm sorry, Quinn, you smell a little homeless.”

“King of Tact as always, Kurt,” she mumbled back, but she was still smiling. “Listen, 'm sorry I snapped at you earlier.”

He squeezed her shoulders. “That's fine. I didn't take it _too_ personally.” 

“And 'm sorry for crashing your date with Blaine.”

Kurt looked up to meet Blaine's eyes in the rearview mirror. They exchanged rueful grins. “Don't worry about it. That's why there's the option of second dates.” 

“Good. Give 'im another chance.” She snuggled down into his arms. “Meant it when I said I'd hunt you down though.”

“I know you did,” he replied, shaking his head and mouthing _later_ at Blaine's silent _what?_ in the mirror. 

“'Cause he's great, you know. I'm an okay person. But he's a _great_ person. So treat 'im like he's great.”

Kurt couldn't hide his chortling at Blaine's face, which was once again burning fire engine red in the glow of the streetlights. “I'll do my best.” Taking pity on his date, he decided to divert Quinn's attention and put Blaine out of his embarrassed misery. “Let's sing, Quinn. We can entertain Blaine while he drives us around. Remember this one? _I've had the time of my life..._ ” 

“ _An' I've never felt this way before,_ ” Quinn burbled, blinking as she tried to remember the words. “ _Yes I swear...it's the truth..._ ”

“ _And I owe it all to you_ ,” they finished together, making Blaine laugh as he steered them onto the main highway that would take them out of Lima and into Columbus.

It was about two hours to Columbus and another two back again, and they went through song after song, all of them songs they'd performed with the Glee Club when Quinn was still a part of it. Blaine was able to join in on a number of songs with a surprisingly good voice that made Kurt want to sing with him another time, while they were alone. They sang until they simply couldn't anymore, and then Blaine handed the CD player and wallet of discs back over the seat so that Kurt and Quinn could have friendly squabbles over what to listen to next, occasionally piping in with his own choices.

It was a little after two AM when they finally swung into Columbus, circled the Ohio Statehouse, stopped to grab a pancake breakfast at a diner, and headed back home, arriving in Lima just as the first streaks of pink sunrise began to shoot across the dusky blue sky.

After drinking just about a full pot of straight black coffee all by herself, Quinn was finally sober, wide awake and ready to go home. “And we are not telling my mother what happened,” she warned as she climbed out of the car, circling to the back to grab her guitar. “She'll only worry and tell me that she told me so, so don't even think about it.”

Blaine hugged her tight before popping the back hatch open. “Not a word,” he promised. “You sure you're okay?”

“I won't sleep for a week, but other than that, I'm as okay as I'm going to get,” she shrugged, yanking the guitar case out and balancing it at her side. “I'll live.”

“Try not to sound so excited.” Blaine stuck his tongue out at her and gave her a shoulder bump that she returned with a snort. To Kurt's surprise, she turned to him then and squeezed him in a quick hug.

“Thanks again, and remember what I told you,” she whispered, a ghost of the old Quinn he used to know peeking out before she scooped her guitar up and hugged it to her chest. “Okay, so, bye.”

“Bye,” they chorused as she vanished into the house. Blaine's pager chose to go off then, and he glanced down at it in confusion that gave way to mild embarrassment. “Oh. Connie. God, I probably should have called her before we left town, in all the confusion I didn't think.” He looked at Kurt, a hopeful smile on his face. “Do you mind if we go to the 7-11 near your place so I can call her?”

“Not at all.” Kurt tipped his shoulder up in a shrug, hoping that the look he was shooting Blaine was coming across as playful or flirtatious. Judging from the way the other boy returned his smile bashfully, he guessed it was. _Good_. “After all the coffee we made Quinn drink, it occurs to me that I didn't get any at all, and I could use some right about now.”

“It's a plan, then.” They climbed back into the car for the short drive to the convenience store. “Your dad didn't page me all night after I told him he could if he needed you,” Blaine mused, sounding a little surprised. “I checked. He must really trust you.”

“I've never given him a reason not to,” Kurt responded, wondering if that was a bad thing. “Doesn't your sister trust you?”

“Sure. She just worries because my parents put her in charge of me until graduation. I don't think she was ready to parent a teenager at the age of 25.” Blaine's smile as he pulled into a parking space was rueful. “I've tried to make it easy on her, though. As best I can.”

“She only paged the once, not a thousand times checking up on you. You must be doing an okay job.” Kurt reminded him, climbing out of the car and heading into the store. “I'll be right back out. Hey, we can walk back to my dad's place from here.”

“Great.” Blaine beamed and disappeared towards the pay phones around the corner. Kurt wandered into the store and took his time assembling a coffee for himself. He thought about getting one for his date, but remembered what the boy had said when Kurt was eavesdropping. He opted for a bottle of water instead, strolling outside to meet Blaine just as he came back from the pay phones.

“She just wanted to make sure we were having fun,” Blaine reported as he took the water with a grateful smile. “Hey, thanks for this. You didn't have to.”

“I overheard you telling my father you don't drink caffeine or anything,” Kurt explained awkwardly. “And I wanted to get you something for taking me out tonight. Last night.”

“A date with me is worth a bottle of water?” Eyebrows raised, Blaine grinned at Kurt's blush as he cracked open the bottle. “I'll have to keep that in mind next time I'm thirsty.”

“No! I mean, oh...” It seemed like one or the other of them had been in a perpetual state of blushing the entire night. And yet, somehow, Kurt didn't mind. Between all the moments of awkwardness and drama were other moments that had been nothing short of exactly right. “Never mind the water. Thank you for a great evening.”

“Thank you for agreeing to go out with me. Maybe next time we can make it a standard date. You and me.” He grabbed Kurt's arm, pulling him aside. “Watch out, broken glass.” He kicked the shattered bottle on the pavement out of their way.

Kurt laughed, though he felt a little frisson of warmth in his chest at both Blaine's touch and actions. It was a bit of a fight to speak past the sudden lump in his throat. “I'm wearing Docs, you're in canvas shoes,” he pointed out in as light a tone as he could manage. “I think it would have done more damage to you.”

“Maybe, but it didn't.” Blaine's grin was bright and infectious, his energy unbelievable after the events of the last day. He hopped up on a brick retaining wall lining someone's front lawn. “You really had fun, though? Do you want to do it again?”

“I don't know...yes,” Kurt decided, toying with his coffee cup. “But I only have something like sixteen weeks before I leave for London, and so much to do. I don't know when I'd have the _time_.”

“Sixteen weeks is a long time. I'm flexible. Just think about it, I'll be here when you have a minute or two.” Blaine tilted his head and grinned, spinning to walk backwards on the wall for a few steps. 

Kurt felt dismay overtake him. “I can't ask you to do that. To just wait around for me to have time to spend with you. I'm not worth that kind of effort!”

“Hi, have you met you?” Blaine bounced down off of the wall to stand in front of Kurt. “Class valedictorian, best dressed kid in school, fellowship student at the Royal Academy of Dramatic Arts? Killer singer, too, from what I heard in the car. And...” He took a deep breath, staring down at his feet. “And this great looking guy who took a chance on a date with a guy like me. Yeah, Kurt.” Another deep breath and he was looking straight into Kurt's eyes, that unreadable emotion back and just as indecipherable to Kurt as before. “Yeah, you're absolutely worth that kind of effort. You don't have to ask for it. I'm willing to give it.”

The declaration took Kurt's breath away. It was several long moments of Blaine's steady gaze on him before he could find the words to respond. “I don't even know what to say to that. Thank you seems so inadequate.”

“You don't have to say anything.” They started walking again, Blaine falling into step at his side after he chucked his empty water bottle into a neighbor's garbage bin. “All you have to do is agree to go out with me again. And for that, a simple nod will do just fine.”

How could Blaine be so good at making him laugh so much? Kurt's face almost hurt from how often it had stretched into a smile or a laugh over the last several hours. “You never really give up, do you?”

“You haven't really given me a reason to.” Blaine winked at Kurt before circling around in front of him to walk backwards, obviously waiting for an answer. “So?”

He gave in, not unhappy to do so at all. “Okay. All right. We'll go out again. I don't know when,” he cautioned, holding his hand up to stave off Blaine's excitement. “But we will. I...yes. I would very much like to see you again.” He took a long sip of his coffee, grimacing at how he'd let it go cold. “I haven't really gone out much. You probably know that. And I've never gone out with anyone as basic as you.”

As soon as the words were out of his mouth, Kurt wanted to kick himself. Even more inexplicable than Blaine's consistent ability to make him laugh was his newly developed and wholly unwelcome aptitude for sticking his foot directly into his mouth. Blaine, though, didn't seem to mind, only grinning. “Basic, huh? Works for me. I like to think I'm a pretty uncomplicated guy.”

“Uncomplicated would have been a nicer way to put it, yes,” Kurt grumbled, annoyed at himself. Fortunately, he was saved from further embarrassment by their arrival at his home. “Here we are.”

“Here we are,” Blaine agreed, sticking his hands in his pockets. “And, Kurt, thank you again for coming to the party with me. I had a fantastic time, and I can't wait to see you again.” He seemed to be waiting for a cue as to what to do next, sending Kurt back into a mild panic.

He didn't feel ready to kiss Blaine – not after a first date. And hugging felt too...friendlike. Which Kurt by now was decidedly not feeling towards the other boy. Walking into his house with just a wave and a farewell as Quinn had wasn't right, either.

In the end, Kurt reached out and tugged one of Blaine's hands out, squeezing it as he forced himself to smile into his eyes. It amazed him how simply the touch of their fingers and hands could feel so intimate – but it wasn't a bad thing. On the contrary, now he was faced with the dilemma of never wanting to let go. 

“Thank you,” he whispered, feeling a little unsteady, happy and puzzled and eager all at once. “I'll call you tomorrow.”

“Today is tomorrow,” Blaine replied smartly, but his own voice wasn't without a slight tremor at their prolonged contact. Kurt smiled and felt a little more centered at this equality between them, the evidence that Blaine's self-assurance wasn't at all infallible.

“Then I'll call you today.” Reluctantly pulling his hand free, Kurt darted away and into the house, running smack into his father as Burt emerged from the kitchen with that morning's paper.

“Kurt! Did ya have fun?” Burt looked his son over carefully, apparently satisfied that Kurt seemed largely unruffled and was even smiling. “You got a feather in the back of your hair.”

He fished his fingers through and pulled the fluff out, tossing it aside and not even caring that his hair was now undeniably a mess. “I did. I had a great time with Blaine. He's amazing.” Kurt knew his grin was far too wide and verging on manic – and then he remembered what he'd said. “Except that I called him 'basic' for some completely stupid reason,” he groaned, covering his face in embarrassment.

But Burt wasn't really paying attention, his focus snagged by something happening outside the front window. He took Kurt's arm and guided him over to look. “I don't think he's really feelin' too bad about it,” he informed his son dryly.

Indeed, Blaine was literally dancing in the street as he headed back to the 7-11 for his car, bouncing on and off of retaining walls, spinning and sliding his way down the road. Yet again, Kurt found himself laughing helplessly, his infatuation with Blaine already completely out of control. And he didn't care. Blaine was everything he wasn't and everything he never knew he wanted to have around. 

He couldn't wait for their next date, either.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kurt and Blaine's second date isn't going exactly the way Blaine might have hoped for when he asked for it.

 

"You are so screwed."

Quinn's declaration was accompanied by a dry chuckle that did nothing for Blaine's twitching nerves. "Very encouraging, Quinn. Nice work. Great way to cheer me on. I love you, too."

"I'm just saying, he made your second date a family dinner." The amusement on her voice didn't abate, and Blaine glared at the phone receiver as if she could feel his irritation. "Not really your forté."

"You do that nervous talking thing," Jeff added distractedly, the beeps of his video game coming through the phone line loud and clear. "My recommendation is to not do that."

Tina, at least, was somewhat more sympathetic. "What's wrong with Kurt? He's not usually this mean, throwing Blaine into a tense situation like that. I really thought better of him."

"Okay, you guys? Not helping." Blaine picked up a green button-down and examined it before tossing it aside in disgust. He paced the living room in agitation. “I am now officially more nervous than I was twenty minutes ago.”

"You're the one who wanted to do a conference call," Quinn reminded him, exhaling a mouthful of cigarette smoke directly into her mouthpiece.

"Yeah, because I wanted you to be nice and tell me it's going to be fine! Not because I wanted you to point out my shortcomings!" He threw himself down on the couch. "I wanted a _date_ date. Just the two of us. This is not ideal."

"He did say he was going to fit you into his schedule as best he could," Jeff reminded him. “This was probably his only chance. You should be happy he took it, Blaine.”

"And didn't you say his dad liked you?" Ever the optimist, Tina was trying to find silver linings for him. “That's really good! My dad doesn't like Mike at all. You're lucky.”

“Yeah, his dad likes me, but I don't want a date with his dad,” Blaine grumbled, finally flopping down on top of the pile of his clothing he'd strewn over the couch. “I want a date with _Kurt_. One without drama, alcohol, other people.”

He could just about hear Quinn's eyes rolling. “Honestly, you kind of should have thought of that before you made the _first_ date a party. Let alone a party at _Puck's_. That was your own damn fault...not that I'm not grateful you were there when things went wrong,” she added hastily.

“Clearly.” He rubbed at his temples, where a headache was just starting to set in. “Maybe this is revenge for that. Maybe he doesn't actually like me. Maybe he's just placating me and hoping I'll lose interest.”

“Let's take a poll,” Quinn suggested, her patience with his fretting obviously gone. “If you were Kurt, would you honestly like Blaine?” Her tone was serious. “Answer carefully.”

Blaine sat up on the couch. “Hey, wait, I don't like this game,” he protested, only to be shushed by Quinn.

Jeff answered first after a long silence, even pausing his video game to do so. “If I were into guys,” he replied slowly, “Then yeah, I probably would like Blaine.”

Tina concurred with enthusiasm. “Yeah, of course I would.”

That left only Quinn. “Yes,” she answered, no doubt or question at all. “Absolutely.”

Blaine was stunned stupid, sitting frozen with his fingers fisted into his own hair. “What?”

“You heard us, we're not repeating it,” Quinn sighed, a smile in her voice. “Now get your ass dressed and over to Kurt's house and be awesome.”

* * *

“I could wear this,” Kurt mused, holding a charcoal jacket with white lapels up before himself, eyes fixed on his reflection in the mirror. “Or I can go a little more casual.” He draped the jacket over a nearby chair and picked up the other garment resting there, a soft royal blue cardigan that Blaine privately wanted to pet for hours – preferably while it was on Kurt.

“I think you'd look fantastic in either one,” he replied honestly. He'd opted for a blue Oxford over jeans and his one pair of decent leather dress shoes. Despite being fairly certain he looked perfectly fine – his sister had been very approving, which was definitely not always or even often the case – Kurt was making him feel underdressed. “Are you sure I don't need to go home and change?”

“Not at all,” Kurt assured him, moving to sit on the bed. “I told you, it's just my dad's sister Sarah and her boyfriend James. And of course me and my dad.” He toyed with a fold of the furry blanket that was draped across the bed. “I know it wasn't what you had in mind for a second date. I'm sorry.”

Blaine felt a little guilty over his temper tantrum earlier. “I'm just glad you wanted to see me at all,” he mumbled, glancing down at Kurt's hands. This proved to be a tactical error, however, as he then found himself fascinated by said hands and all the things that hands could do. Swallowing, he glanced back up at Kurt's face, which looked worried. “No, seriously, I know you said you were going to be busy, so it's great that we get this chance. Although...won't your aunt mind that there's a guest?”

“Aunt Sarah?” Kurt laughed lightly and shook his head. “No. She'll actually be thrilled. She's been asking me when I'll find a 'nice young man to bring home'.” At Blaine's blush, he smirked. “And James is really nice. They're like...Julia Roberts and Bill Cosby.”

“Sorry?” Blaine tried to imagine this and failed completely. “Does not compute.”

“Well, she's this freespirited hippie artist, and he's a PhD in child psychology. They met at a seminar on the benefits of art therapy.” He patted Blaine's hand before scooting off of the bed and into his closet to finish dressing. “I think you'll like them. They'll like you.”

“If you say so.” Blaine got up and prowled the room, running his fingers over the spines of the books in the shelves that lined the walls. He was unsurprised to see a large number of bound scripts for plays and musicals – _Angel Street, Guys and Dolls, West Side Story, Tartuffe_. Several collections of short stories were scattered here and there, including a copy of _Grimm's Fairy Tales_ that matched one he'd bought for Quinn last fall. And then there was an absolutely lethally enormous volume of Shakespeare's plays that was too tall to fit in the shelves and had been laid out on an end table. He tried to pick it up with one hand, nearly spraining his wrist. “Kurt, this is the biggest book I've ever seen.”

“The Shakespeare?” Kurt's muffled voice as it wafted from the closet was amused. “My dad gave me that for Christmas when I was nine. I'd just told him I wanted to be on stage for a living, and he didn't really know what else to get.” He bustled out, clad in tight jeans and the pettable cardigan. “If my mother had still been alive, she might have steered him to something a little more...portable.” Running his fingertips over the soft calfskin cover, his voice grew more wistful. “But she'd only been gone a few months. Right before my ninth birthday. He was still trying to figure out how to get through each day.”

“It's just been the two of you for that long?” Blaine felt the urge to try and hug the sadness away, but held back, unsure if it would be appropriate. “You were so young.”

With a light shrug, Kurt slid the book back into its place. “We've made it work,” he murmured, a distant smile crossing his face. “A few too many burned chicken dinners, some laundry turned pink from a stray red sock, days when I had to just sit quietly and let him pull himself together...but we got through it.” His smile grew brighter as he turned to face Blaine. “He was a good dad before, but I think the adversity made him a really great one. Maybe the best. I would never be who I am without his support.”

“You're lucky. So lucky.” Blaine reached out, spontaneously catching Kurt's warm, smooth hand up in his, squeezing just a little. The unexpected contact hushed them both into silence, staring at their joined hands in something akin to curiosity and wonder. Kurt let his thumb run over the back of Blaine's hand in a gentle, intimate motion that sent shivers up his spine. 

Too soon, Kurt disengaged, but slowly, as if he didn't quite want to. “We'd better get downstairs,” he breathed, a warm tint in his cheeks. “Sarah and James will be here any minute, and I have a few more things to do with dinner.” He leaned down to whisper in Blaine's ear. “Next time, though, it really will be just you and me.”

With that promise, he smiled and headed downstairs, Blaine following behind as soon as he'd managed to compose himself.

* * *

True to Kurt's word, the dinner was good and the company excellent. James and Sarah were entertaining, intelligent people who'd been together so long they could communicate almost without speaking at all. They were fascinating to watch.

Just as fascinating were Kurt and his father, who had run the dinner with a similar ease, moving from kitchen to dining room with delicious smelling dishes of chicken in puff pastry and a large, colorful salad with homemade dressing. Blaine leaned over to Kurt after tasting the latter. “Did you make all of this?”

“He sure did,” Burt interjected before Kurt could answer, a proud smile on his face. “Took over cooking when it turned out my skills were stuck on microwaving leftovers. I did the vegetables for the salad, but that's about it.”

Blaine shook his head, astonished. “But how did you find the time?” he asked. “Learning to cook like this must have taken forever, and you already do everything in the world. Seriously, Kurt, how?”

“Trial and error,” Kurt shrugged, a wry smile on his face. “And no social life, that helped.”

“And you're brilliant,” Burt insisted, chuckling when Kurt ducked his head in embarrassment. “Nah, come on! I get to say these things, I'm your dad. Not that you'd ever know it.” He winked around the table. “If I didn't know better, I'd say Lizzie and the postman had somethin' they needed to confess to me.”

“Shush, Burt, you're embarrassing the boy. And in front of his date.” Sarah meant well, but now she had both boys turning red and looking anywhere but at each other. She picked her napkin up off of her lap and dabbed at her lips before beaming at her nephew and changing the subject. “Kurt, honey, what airline are you going to be flying to England?”

“British Airways,” Kurt answered politely, fidgeting with his fork. “I'm expecting the ticket and itinerary to arrive within the next month.”

Burt winked at his son. “And we're not gonna have a repeat of your last flight disaster, right, kiddo?” He reached over and gently shoved at Kurt's arm while the boy suddenly looked as if he wished himself to be anywhere but where he was at that moment.

Blaine hated to add to Kurt's obvious misery, but he was deadly curious about what had happened on that flight. Fortunately, James was able to save him from inciting Kurt's ire by asking the question himself. “What happened last time?”

“Sarah never told you? Wow.” Burt was chuckling as he put his knife and fork aside, preparing to tell the story. “He was about...what would you say, Kurt? Six? Seven? Before Lizzie got real sick, anyway. I won a trip to Disneyworld for being one of the top new small businesses in the state. Park tickets, hotel, plane fare, the works.”

Kurt was almost whimpering at the recounting of the tale. “This is awful,” he moaned, burying his bright pink face in his napkin. “I was _six_.”

“Yeah, woulda been funnier if you'd been sixteen. Too bad. Now hush.” Burt waved a finger at his son and continued. “Anyway, he was afraid of planes. And Lizzie had been reading him bedtime stories about airplanes for a couple of weeks, and I'd been tellin' him all the cool stuff I knew about them, so we were hoping he'd be okay when we had to take the trip.”

“And I wasn't,” Kurt confessed, emerging from the makeshift shelter of his linen serviette. “I'd seen stuff about plane crashes in books, or the newspaper, or even on TV. I couldn't shake it.”

Burt picked up the story again. “So we get on the plane, Kurt's clingin' to Lizzie like a little monkey while she reads to him, and I got a bag of snacks and toys so I can bribe him into behaving. It would've worked if all the babies on the plane hadn't started crying at once when we started to taxi out.”

Kurt sat up straighter and tilted his chin into the air defiantly. “I thought they knew something I didn't. Like animals, when there's an earthquake coming.” He caught Blaine's sympathetic gaze and flushed a little. “It made sense at the time.”

“Well, we couldn't calm him down for love or money then,” Burt went on, leaning back to drape his arm over the back of his chair. “His screamin' was pissin' off everyone he wasn't scaring to death, and he was starting to choke on it.” He spread his hands out in a shrug. “All I could do was ask the stewardess to get the pilot to turn the plane around.”

“Which he did.” Kurt propped his head up on his hand, appearing to recover from his embarrassment a little. “He was happy to do so if it stopped the hysterics. So back to the gate we went, and we disembarked, and now I can never fly United again.”

Blaine nudged him under the table with his knee. “Yeah, but the important question is: did you get to go to Disneyworld?”

“We did, actually. Dad took us straight to the Amtrak station and we went by train.” Kurt grinned at his father, eyes now fully twinkling. “A vast improvement.”

“I'm pretty sure that was the trip that got Kurt bit with the acting bug, too.” Burt was chuckling again. “You wanna tell 'em this part, kid?”

“Oh, my God, that's right! How could I have forgotten?” He turned to Blaine, hands dancing to animate his speech. “There was a man on the plane who worked for an advertising agency that had King's Island as a client. They were filming new commercials for the park, and he liked my scream. So he tracked us down! From Dad's t-shirt of all things.”

Burt nodded. “I was in a shop shirt,” he explained. “He remembered the name.”

“So we come home to a message on the answering machine from this guy who wants to record me screaming.” Kurt stuck his tongue into his cheek and smirked. “We go in, I scream, we get a little money, and my scream was on the air for _years_. I was the high pitched scream you heard when they showed The Racer.”

“That was you?” Blaine's eyes felt like they were going to pop out of his head. “Jesus! That scream was bloodcurdling, I was terrified of roller coasters for years because of you, Kurt!”

Kurt leaned over and jostled his shoulder playfully. “Sorry.”

“Burt trots that out at all the family reunions,” Sarah informed them, smiling indulgently at her nephew. “It's always a hit. Blaine?”

He looked over at Kurt's aunt, blinking in surprise. “Yes?”

“Your turn.” Her eyes were alight with curiosity. “Why don't you tell us something about you? Kurt's my nephew, I know everything about him. So...what about you?”

“Er, um, well,” Blaine stalled, unsure what to say. Next to Kurt, what was there about himself that was interesting at all? Nothing he could think of. “What would you like to know?”

“You graduated from McKinley, right?” James' voice was low and his expression friendly, so Blaine nodded without even thinking about it. “Well, what are your plans now?”

 _Not the future question again_   
, Blaine groaned to himself. “Right now? To spend as much time as possible with Kurt.”

Everyone laughed, but James shook his head, persisting. “No, I mean in the future. Are you going to college?”

“Oh, James, relax. This isn't what I meant when I asked Blaine to tell us about himself.” Sarah swatted at her boyfriend's arm, beaming Blaine the infectious smile that all the Hummels shared. “Ignore him, Blaine, he's a therapist, he can't help it. He likes putting people in little boxes.”

“I do not!” James protested. “I'm curious! After all, Kurt knows what he wants to do, I just want to know if his boyfriend does.”

“Oh, I'm not his boyfriend,” Blaine blurted.

Kurt hurried to explain. “This is just our second date.”

James eyed them both speculatively. “I'm going to leave examining _that_ for another time,” he announced, a sly twinkle in his eyes. “Blaine?”

Blaine gave in, cursing his innate need to please people. “I don't know,” he admitted. “I haven't decided yet. Right now, I work in Mr. Motta's skate shop. I like it, I'm good at it. But I don't want to ratchet skateboard wheels for the rest of my life.”

“Go on,” James invited, leaning back in his chair and steepling his fingers in front of his chin. Sarah rolled her eyes at him, but had clearly decided she couldn't help Blaine any more than she had – she must have been accustomed to James' obvious stubborn streak. With an apologetic smile, she scooted her chair back and started clearing the table with Burt. Kurt reached under it and squeezed Blaine's hand, offering a smile of his own.

“My dad wants me to join the military, like him,” Blaine continued, letting his thumb glide over Kurt's hand as Kurt's had over his earlier. “But I'm really not down for that. It's not a good fit. There's skateboarding, and I'm actively working on that, but how many years can I last on the pro circuit before broken bones and arthritis do me in? Then what, do I open my own skate shop? I'm not really feeling that either.”

“It doesn't sound like you have much direction,” James observed in a mild tone. Blaine saw Kurt's mouth drop open and his face flush with anger. Squeezing the other boy's hand again, he shoved the irritation he felt deep down and thought carefully about his reply. 

“That's...probably true,” he started, searching for the right words. “I prefer to think that I'm operating on a process of elimination. If I discard everything I don't want to do, then maybe eventually I'll end up with something I do want to do.” He took a long, deep breath. “So right now, I have a pretty good start on what I don't want to do: I don't want to take orders from people, I don't want to order people to do things, I don't want to take people's orders for things they want to buy. Orders, basically, are a no.” He lifted his chin, feeling more confident as he went on. “That still leaves me with a world of possibility. Right now, the possibilities I like best are skateboarding and spending time with Kurt, so I'm pretty much going to go with those and choose something more permanent when I'm ready.”

James was still keeping a steady gaze on him. “That's a lot of uncertainty.”

“Life's uncertain. The only thing I know for sure is that my life is mine, so I'm the one who gets to call the shots.” Blaine smiled politely and concentrated on not squeezing Kurt's hand off in anger. He wanted to be able to hold that hand a lot more this summer, and it would be easier to do that if he didn't break it on their second date. 

They were both surprised when James threw back his head and laughed. “I really couldn't ask for a better answer,” he informed them, still chuckling. “Good for you, Blaine. I like your honesty. You're pretty self-aware for your age.”

“Military brat,” Blaine shrugged, still a little wary and annoyed that he'd basically just been psychoanalyzed. “You move around too much to get to know other people, so...” He let his sentence fade out, wanting to be done with this conversation. Kurt picked up on it and got to his feet, tugging Blaine up with him.

“We're going for a walk,” he informed his aunt's boyfriend, who just nodded at them, understanding. Kurt pulled him through the kitchen, letting Sarah and Burt know the same thing before leading Blaine out of the kitchen door and down to the sidewalk. “I'm so sorry, Blaine. I forgot he does that.”

“He meant well,” Blaine mumbled, shoving his hands into his pockets and keeping his eyes firmly directed at the ground. “He's a therapist, it's what they do, right?”

“Now it's my turn to ask you what's the matter,” was Kurt's response as he reached over to pull Blaine's hand free, clasping it as he had the morning after their first date. “You're so confident most of the time.”

He cast a sidelong glance at Kurt's curious face, feeling his mouth curl into a half-smile. “Are _you_ psychoanalyzing me now?”

“No, I'm getting to know you.” Kurt set their hands to swinging between them and made a silly face at Blaine. “Seems like the sort of thing to do on a second date.”

Blaine tilted his head all the way back and sighed. “My dad's in the military. You know that. It comes with the burden of living up to some pretty high expectations.” At feeling Kurt press his hand reassuringly, he breathed a little easier. “I grew up wanting to really please everyone all of the time. Good grades, well behaved – everything my dad wanted. And then...” He puffed out a sigh. “Then I came out.”

“I'll assume that wasn't really something your dad wanted.” The tone of Kurt's guess was dry, and Blaine nodded.

“To say the least. We fought about it for a long time. It never got abusive or anything, but...I mean, I felt his disappointment. He made sure of that. It was the first time I'd disappointed anyone.” He shook his head, feeling like he was trying to dislodge the unpleasant memory from where it was clogged up in his brain. 

“I'm sorry,” Kurt said again, drawing a little closer to twine his arm through Blaine's as they walked. “I can't imagine...my dad's always been supportive. That's what you meant when you said I was lucky, isn't it?”

“Yeah.” He scuffed his feet along the sidewalk, kicking up acorns and buckeyes that had fallen to the ground. “I finally got around to deciding I'd be way happier if I just did my own thing, and I am. I just can't shake the fear of disappointing people.”

“Hence the confident façade.”

“It's not a façade,” Blaine objected. “I am confident most of the time. I'm just...also really conscious of the possibility of disappointing other people. I hate questions like that about my future because I feel like I'm disappointing them, even though in the end it's no one's business but mine what I do and when I decide to do it.” He sighed again. “It's hard to get contradicting attitudes to work together.”

“Well. You don't disappoint me.” Kurt leaned in and nudged at his shoulder, a hopeful smile on his face. “I like _you,_ Blaine. Contradictions and all.” They walked in companionable silence for a while, Blaine unable to wipe a happy new grin off of his face. Kurt spoke up again. “So if you moved around a lot, it must have been difficult for you and Quinn to stay friends.”

“Ah. That's actually a good story. I was born here, I think you knew that.” He saw Kurt nod out of the corner of his eye. “Well, my dad didn't enlist until I was about eight, so Quinn and I were in elementary school together. Our parents were friends, like from high school, I think. They exchanged letters a lot. Quinn and I wrote letters, too – they made us do it for a while, but then we started doing it because we liked to keep in touch.” He smiled at this, a good memory. “I still have a lot of them, actually, but don't tell her. She'd kill me.” They both laughed. “Then when I was 12, we got stationed at Wright Patterson. That was close enough for our parents to visit with each other sometimes, and Quinn and I reconnected.”

“How did you end up at McKinley, then? Wright Patterson's over an hour away.” Kurt's curious tone made it clear he'd never heard the story. Not really a big surprise; he'd trust Quinn to keep secrets behind her teeth under the most vile of tortures. Blaine turned in on himself, knowing his face was going closed off. “Okay, you don't have to answer.”

“Um, no, it's fine...” He took a deep breath, facing the memories head on in vivid, gory detail. “I got bullied. Military brats...they're a nastier breed of kid sometimes. And you know how the military feels about homosexuality.”

“You knew then?” Kurt sounded amazed at this. “I guess I knew pretty young too. Never mind.”

“Kind of. Yes. I didn't really acknowledge it because I wasn't sure how to deal with it.” He reminded himself to keep breathing, keep talking, keep calm. “But you know kids, if they sense a weakness, they're on you like hyenas and blood. They decided I was gay before I could figure it out myself, and they didn't like it, and they made my life hell.” Blaine swallowed back panic at remembering it all, the horrible notes, the insults Sharpied across his locker. “At the end of the school year my 8th grade year, I was beaten up really badly and shoved into a locker in the school gym. No one found me for hours.” His shoulders ached from phantom bruises and muscle tears that had healed long ago. “My parents were horrified to discover the extent of the bullying. I'd always made like everything was fine, see.”

“Blaine, that's horrible.” Kurt stopped them and pulled his arm away, grabbing Blaine and turning so that they faced each other. Sadness swam in his blue eyes. “Why didn't you tell anyone?”

“Because it would have disappointed my father that I hadn't made friends.” At Kurt's distressed gasp of realization, Blaine let a faint smile cross his face before dropping his head down. “I wouldn't tell them that I had figured out I _was_ gay for a little while longer yet, so they just figured the kids had a personal vendetta against me. And then they arranged for me to stay with the Fabrays my freshman year so that I could start at a new high school, completely fresh, but with at least one friend already in place.” 

“God, Blaine, I can't...” Kurt tucked his hands under his arms and was shivering slightly. “How did you fly under the...er...gaydar, then? At McKinley?”

“Quinn.” Blaine shrugged. “She was the first person I told about maybe being gay. And the only one, for a long time. My freshman year, we...we didn't go around saying she was my girlfriend, but we didn't say she wasn't, either.”

“But then you left?”

“Then I left,” he confirmed, nodding. “She got tangled up with the mess with Finn and Rachel. And I came to terms with myself in England, came out to my parents, and came home not really wanting to hide anymore. Between my mad skateboarding skills,” He stuck out his tongue and wiggled his eyebrows, making Kurt laugh. God, he liked Kurt's laugh. “and no one wanting to cross Quinn, _plus_ a couple of incidents where no one I could prove I was in the locker room when pepper spray somehow got on a bunch of jock straps...well. My senior year went pretty well, in the end.” He winked. “What about you?”

“Oh, I got my fair share of crap freshman year, too.” Kurt stuffed his hands into his pockets as they started to walk again. “But sophomore year I joined Glee, and so did a bunch of football players, so I had some guys who were semi-friends always around like bodyguards.” He heaved an airy sigh. “Junior year, I guess it became pretty clear to everyone that I was going to be Valedictorian, and no one wanted to make headlines for being the the guy who beats up the gay honors student with the bright future. So they mostly left me alone.” Chewing on his lip for a moment, he clarified. “Mostly. Mutters, whispers, rumors, notes and things. Nothing I couldn't ignore. I didn't have close friends, but I didn't have any outright enemies, either. That was something.”

Blaine reached out and looped his arm back through Kurt's. “I wish I'd gotten the courage to talk to you sooner, then.”

“Why?” Kurt tilted his head and smiled in curiosity.

“No one deserves to go through high school alone. I don't know what I would have done without Jeff and Quinn this year.” Blaine swallowed back a lump of gratitude as he thought about it. “They've been amazing. And my sister, too.”

“Well, and I had my dad,” Kurt pointed out. “Plus I was kept so busy, it was kind of okay to not have much of a social life.”

“Still. I don't know. You're a stronger person than I am.” Blaine smiled. “It's really admirable.”

“Oh, stop.” Kurt shook his head, a shy smile on face as he refused to meet Blaine's eyes. “I just...I'm not...honestly, sometimes I wonder just how high the pedestal you put me on is. I'm just me, Blaine.”

“And I _like_ you _,_ Kurt. So I get to say nice things about you. Which in your case happen to be true.” Blaine ducked his head, trying to catch Kurt's evasive gaze. “I'll change the subject if it makes you feel better. Third date? I believe you promised me an exclusive audience this time.”

“You mean my family hasn't scared you to death? Damn, I'll have to think of something else to drive you away.” But Kurt's voice was bright with teasing, and when he tightened his arm around Blaine's, the extra contact nearly made Blaine trip over his own feet. “Oh, God, Blaine. I don't know. I just don't. The pile of things to do is just getting bigger and bigger and bigger but I really do want to spend time with you so much. God, why do we have to sleep? And eat? Do you know how much time I could spend with you if I didn't have to sleep or eat? And don't get me started on...”

As they came around the corner onto the street the Hummels' house was on, Kurt was so absorbed in ranting about how everything took up all the time in the day that it was Blaine who first noticed that something was terribly wrong. He grabbed at Kurt's arm. “I'll take a raincheck,” he blurted.

Kurt looked up, confused. “What? Blaine? Why did you...” He trailed off into nothing when he realized they were staring at an ambulance, lights flashing as paramedics loaded an unconscious Burt Hummel into the back of it. Sarah and James were clutching at each other in the driveway, in a position that Kurt unconsciously duplicated when he reached out and pulled Blaine to him, holding close like he was hanging on to a piece of driftwood that was the only thing keeping him from drowning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to everyone who is reading and enjoying this! I am especially getting a kick out of all my fellow 90's kids coming out and telling me how they're loving the nostalgia. You guys are the best!


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kurt's not accustomed to asking for help; fortunately, Blaine has no problem offering it anyway.

 

* * *

“...the doctor says it was a pretty mild heart attack, all things considered.” Kurt scrubbed at his sore eyes with the heel of his hand before craning his head around to stretch his neck. He'd been at the hospital with his father all night and most of the day, waiting for the doctor's verdict, at which point his father had ordered him to go home and not come back until the next day. Now he felt grubby, tired, and overwhelmed, but he knew Blaine would be worried, so he'd called the minute he finally got home.

“God, Kurt, will he be all right? Will you?” The concern in Blaine's voice was clear down the line, bringing the first ghost of a smile to Kurt's face in hours. He had to admit it was nice to have someone who wasn't family being concerned for him.

“He definitely has to go on medication and he has to take it really easy for a while.” He paced the worn rug in his pajamas, fitting his bare feet to the geometric border as if walking on a balance beam. “He won't like it, but he's just going to have to cope. The mechanics can run the shop for a while, and I've done the books for years. There's no reason he can't rest.”

“Except that he won't want to,” Blaine pointed out, making them both laugh. “This is not a job  
I envy you at all...and speaking of you. Seriously, what _about_ you, Kurt? How are you doing? You sound exhausted.”

Kurt nodded before remembering the other boy couldn't see him. “I am tired. I need a nap. But...” He paused, wondering how to put his next request without it sounding weird. “Blaine...I...I just...I don't want to be alone right now. The house seems so big, can...would you mind? You don't have to but -”

“I can be there in ten,” Blaine assured him without hesitation. “No, make it fifteen. Okay?”

“Thank you, thank you, thank you,” Kurt answered, relief and gratitude almost swallowing him whole. “I can't thank you enough.”

“Kurt, you're so welcome.” Affection warmed Blaine's voice. “Really. I am beyond happy to do whatever it takes to help out, okay? I'll be there before you know it.”

“Okay,” Kurt agreed, sagging down onto the couch. “Okay. See you then.”

“See you.”

He clicked the phone off and set it in its charger on the end table before leaning his head into the sofa cushions. He'd only close his eyes for a second. Just to rest them a little.

The doorbell woke him twenty minutes later, an almost frantic repetitive pealing like someone was pressing the button over and over – which was in fact entirely the case. Kurt shot to his feet before he was fully awake, tangling his feet in the rug and landing hard on his right knee when he went down. “Ow,” he yelped, loud enough for the person outside – presumably Blaine, he thought – let up on the doorbell. 

He struggled up to his feet, clutching at his abused knee. “Coming,” he croaked out. It throbbed painfully as he limped to the door, gritting his teeth against the ache. Kurt guessed he looked truly pathetic when he opened up, because Blaine looked horrified.

“What did you do to yourself?” Blaine set down the two paper bags he was carrying, reaching immediately to pull Kurt's arm over his shoulder, wrapping the other around his waist and all but carrying him to the couch. “Don't move,” he ordered, returning to the doorway to pick up his bags.

“Whatever you say.” Kurt leaned his head back again, listening to the sounds of rustling paper and things being placed on the coffee table. A light touch on his ankle made him jump, opening his eyes to see Blaine kneeling in front of him.

“Is it your knee?” At Kurt's nod, Blaine reached to touch the hem of his pajamas. “Mind if I take a look?”

“You're a doctor now?” 

“Nope, but my sister's a nurse and I've had enough knee injuries that I can at least tell you if you need to go back to the hospital or not.” A crooked smile tilted Blaine's mouth up when Kurt groaned at this prospect. “The longer you wait, the more likely it is.”

“Fine.” Kurt threw his arm over his eyes as he leaned his head back again, trying not to think about the feelings that Blaine's hands on his leg were calling up. The cream colored silk slipped up his calf, one of Blaine's hands firm and warm as he anchored the material above his sore knee. The other hand cupped his ankle gently, turning it in tiny increments this way and that as he looked at Kurt's injury.

“Si _lk pajamas, silk pajamas, he was wearing silk pajamas,_ ”Blaine sang softly, laughter brightening his already pleasant voice. “ _Usual outfit, big pith helmet, Doctor Martens and silk pajamas_...”

Kurt cracked up, opening his eyes to see Blaine smiling up at him. “That is not a real song. You're making it up.”

“I assure you, I am not. I would never joke about Thomas Dolby.” He tugged the pajama leg back down and stood up. “Your knee looks okay, a little swollen and it's going to bruise. I'll get you an ice pack.” 

“What's in the bags?” Kurt called out after him as he vanished into the kitchen. After a few moments of drawer opening and ice dispenser rattling, Blaine reappeared with a towel full of ice cubes.

“Lunch.” Blaine handed the makeshift ice pack over to Kurt so he could start opening the bags. “I took a guess that you hadn't eaten anything since last night.”

“I had a thing from the vending machine. It was labeled food, but I don't think it actually _was_ food.” He gingerly rested the ice pack on his knee before closing his eyes again. “That probably doesn't count.”

“Not so much.” Paper rustled and crinkled again for a moment before Kurt felt his free hand being taken and something put into it. “Here. Eat.”

Kurt pried his eyes open yet again. He seemed to be holding a turkey sub on wheat bread. “Oh, that looks  _fantastic_ ,” he breathed.

“Good. Eat.” Blaine watched and waited for Kurt to start eating before taking a bite of his own sandwich. “And you're taking a nap after this.”

Kurt didn't even bother to answer, preoccupied as he was with trying to eat without appearing to be a complete pig. He'd never been so hungry in his life, and no sandwich had ever tasted so good. Furthermore, he wasn't  _even_ about to argue about taking a nap. A nap sounded like the best thing ever.

Despite his hunger, he only got through about half of his lunch before he realized he was too tired to chew anymore. The sandwich dangled loosely in his hand as he sat staring off at nothing. He barely noticed when Blaine reached over and gently took it away.

“Do you want me to help you upstairs for your nap?” Blaine asked softly, rubbing Kurt's back. Kurt all but felt like purring and melting into a puddle of sleep. He could only muster the energy to shake his head once.

“Don't leave,” he mumbled, eyes beginning to droop closed. “Don't...”

“I'm not going anywhere,” soothed Blaine's voice. “I'm right here.”

Before his eyes shut completely, Kurt leaned over and wrapped his arms around Blaine's waist, resting his head on the other boy's chest. He felt Blaine's start of surprise before he relaxed and scooted to lean back against the arm of the couch, pulling Kurt with him. Fingers scratched gently at the nape of Kurt's neck, the soothing action combining with the steady beat of Blaine's heart against his cheek to lull him into a deep, dreamless sleep.

* * *

When he awoke, the afternoon sunlight had given way to early dusk, and he was alone on the couch. Blaine's voice was a gentle murmur in the next room.  _He must be on the phone_ , Kurt decided, pushing up to his feet.  _Maybe with his sister._ He thought about going in and letting Blaine know he was awake, but the taste of his mouth made him grimace in distaste. Probably best to tend to that first.

One thing led to another, and forty-five minutes later, Kurt was clean, dressed, and feeling distinctly more human – though also deeply guilty for leaving Blaine on his own for so long. Guilt that was only compounded when he padded into the dining room to find Blaine unloading several cardboard containers of Chinese food onto the table, humming the silly little song about silk pajamas as he did so.

“Blaine,” Kurt started, feeling a little awkward. “What's all this?”

Blaine looked up, startled into dropping the container of steamed rice in his hand. “Kurt! Oh, crap.”

“I've got it.” He grabbed a stack of paper napkins from a side table and moved to Blaine's side to clean up. “Seriously, though, what is this?”

A sheepish look crossed Blaine's face. “I can't cook. At all. But I thought maybe you might end up being hungry again and I wanted to do something.”

“You've already done a lot by bringing lunch and staying with me.” Kurt scooped rice into his hand and went to dump it into the sink, thanking gods he didn't believe in that they had hardwood in the dining room. “Don't get me wrong, I really appreciate it. I just don't want to take advantage of your generosity.”

“You're not.” Blaine was cheerful as he set out containers of steamed vegetables and spicy chicken. In the next second, however, a bit of the light did go out of his smile. “I have to go after dinner, though. Connie's doing overnights this week, I have to stay with my nephew.”

Kurt considered the prospect of being in the house alone all night. He did not care for it in the slightest. “Bring him here,” he suggested impulsively. “We have a spare room, you two can sleep in there.”

“Are you sure?” Though once again caught by surprise, Blaine managed this time to set the box in his hand carefully on the table as he stared at Kurt. “You want me to stay? To bring Jason?”

“Please.” Kurt toyed with a pair of chopsticks, splitting them up so they could be used. “If it's okay with your sister. And if your nephew would be all right sleeping in a strange house.”

“As long as I'm there with him, I don't think he'll have a problem,” Blaine replied slowly. “And Connie knows your dad's in the hospital, so she'll understand – but are you sure? Really sure? I don't want to impose.” He cracked a smile. “After all, it's only our third date.”

“It does seem rather forward of me to invite a young man to stay over so early in the courting process,” Kurt drawled airily, waving an insouciant hand as Blaine cracked up laughing. “No, really. Stay, please. I want you to.”

Blaine shrugged, a smile beaming across his face. “Sure, absolutely. It'll be fun. I'll go call Connie now, then we'll eat.” With a flash of bright smile, he disappeared to find the cordless phone. Kurt went around the table finishing the set up and contemplating the events of the day.

He wasn't quite...sure, exactly, what was between himself and Blaine. Things seemed to be proceeding quickly, at least on his own side. He'd thought nothing of falling asleep in Blaine's arms, only felt that he wanted to be somewhere that felt like a safe harbor – and in that moment of overwhelming exhaustion and being taken care of, Blaine had  _been_ that safe harbor.

It had felt exactly, perfectly right, and Kurt supposed he probably ought to be alarmed by it. But...he wasn't. Not right now. Not after years of social isolation. Not when his only living parent was in the hospital.

For a fleeting moment, it crossed his mind that maybe he was using Blaine, but he dismissed it almost as soon as it occurred to him. No, he genuinely  _liked_ Blaine, liked him a very great deal. He liked being around him, liked seeing him smile, liked  _making_ him smile, and he definitely liked falling asleep in his arms. 

There were other things he liked, too, but he wasn't quite ready to dwell too hard on those, on the feel of Blaine's hand on his ankle, the thump of his heart, the roughness of his hand on Kurt's skin. The attraction between them was as strong as it was nearly completely inexplicable.

No, he wasn't using Blaine. 

As if summoned by the mere thought of his name, Blaine hustled back into the dining room, interrupting Kurt's train of thought. “Hey, wow, the table looks great. You didn't have to do all that.”

Kurt blinked, coming back to reality and realizing he'd fully set the table for two. All of the food was beautifully plated and he seemed to have even retrieved a centerpiece from the sidebar. “I...I actually didn't even notice I was doing it.”

“That is one hell of a superpower,” Blaine surmised in admiration, surveying the table with a pleased look on his face. “Um, anyway! Connie's going to bring Jason by in about an hour. You're absolutely positive you're okay with us being here?”

“I'd be a wreck if you weren't,” Kurt confessed. “I don't think I'd sleep. Dad's...he's never _not_ been here. Not like this. I mean, yes, he's gone on overnight trips, but this...it's different. I don't like it.” He didn't realize he was wringing his hands and cracking his knuckles until Blaine crossed over and covered his hands with his own, stilling their mindless activity.

“I'm here. Whatever you need, I'm here. Okay?” At Kurt's nod, he stepped back and smiled. “Wanna eat?”

“Absolutely.” They took their seats and fell to eating as if they were starving, even though they'd eaten just a few hours before. A comfortable silence lay between them, the kind of silence that was like a warm blanket or a really good bath. A luxury to Kurt, who was accustomed to silences between himself and other people being deeply, deeply awkward.

Blaine broke it. “Did they say when your dad could come home?” He reached out and picked up a dumpling with his chopsticks, dunking it in soy sauce a few times. “At least a general guess?”

“Sometime this week. They wanted to keep him tonight for a few more tests, then they said they'd decide after the results came back.” Kurt swirled a spoon in his egg drop soup. “After that comes the hard part: keeping him resting.”

“Better you than me,” Blaine joked with a chuckle. “He seems stubborn.”

“Master of the understatement, that's you, Blaine Anderson.” Pointing his spoon across the table, Kurt winked playfully. “I'll have to be home a lot. At least I'll get some studying done then.”

“I can run errands for you when I'm not working or watching Jason,” Blaine volunteered. “I told you, I'll do whatever you need me to do to help.”

“I can't ask you to -” Kurt began to protest, only to be interrupted by a wave of Blaine's hand.

“You keep telling me you can't ask me to do things that...you're not actually asking me to do in the first place, Kurt.” Propping his head on his hand, Blaine let a rueful smile curl his mouth. “I'm actually offering my help. It's okay to let people do that, did you know?” 

“I'm not used to it. I'm just not. I'm an only child with one parent, Blaine, I can't help but have an independent streak.” He tossed his head back and smirked for a moment, smiling when he made Blaine snicker softly. “I appreciate it, though. You just have to give me time to get used to it.”

“You can have all of my time that you want,” Blaine promised, scooping up another dumpling. “Hey, do you want to go to the video store later? We can go get something for Jason to watch, and then a couple of movies for us after he falls asleep?”

The idea was appealing. It would keep them awake much too late, but it was summertime. And his father didn't want him back at the hospital until tomorrow afternoon. Kurt only mulled it over for a moment. “Yes. I think that's great.” He leaned over and swatted Blaine's hand. “But you have to quit hogging the dumplings.”

* * *

Blaine's sister had been in too much of a hurry for Kurt to get a full impression of her, but he liked that she was an older, female version of Blaine – uncontrollable hair, warm smile, bright hazel eyes. She gave him a hug as soon as they were introduced and promised to look in on his father before shoving a bag of homemade chocolate chip cookies into his hands, waving at both of them and scampering out the door.

The cookies were excellent.

Jason took a little more getting used to. He was a  _younger_ version of Blaine, only with big sober gray eyes and a suspicious demeanor. Jason had had to be pried off of Constance's leg and wrapped around Blaine's like Velcro, where he still clung, staring at Kurt like he was waiting for him to do something horrific. 

Never having had close cousins or younger siblings, Kurt was at a loss. He glanced over at Blaine, who was rummaging through Jason's overnight bag to make sure they had everything. “Do you think if I offer him a cookie, he'll stop looking at me as if I were going to turn him into an ottoman?”

“No, but it'll be a start.” Blaine gently tugged Jason's arms free and knelt down by his nephew, giving him a hug. “Hey, buddy. This is my friend Kurt. Remember when I was on the phone the other day? And I asked you to be quiet for me?” At Jason's solemn nod, Blaine went on, pointing at Kurt. “Well, that's who I was on the phone with. He wants to thank you for being good, too. Why don't you go let him?”

Slowly, Jason disentangled himself from Blaine's grasp and crept over to Kurt, who had extracted one of Connie's cookies from the bag and was holding it out with what he hoped was an encouraging smile on his face. “Hi there. You seem nice.” He wiggled the cookie. “Thank you for letting me talk to your uncle the other day. It was very good of you.”

A tiny smile lit up Jason's face at that, and he moved over to Kurt's side a little more eagerly. He tugged at the leg of Kurt's jeans and motioned for him to kneel down. “You're too tall.”

Both boys laughed, and Kurt stooped down, even going so far as getting onto his knees when Jason kept motioning him lower. He held out the cookie, letting out a silent sigh of relief when the child took it and bit into it, all suspicion gone. “And what do you say to Kurt, Jason?” Blaine prompted, leaning down to ruffle a hand through the boy's halo of curls.

Jason carefully chewed and swallowed, and motioned Kurt closer, like he wanted to tell him a secret. Cupping one chubby hand around Kurt's ear, he loudly stage whispered, “He likes you.”

Kurt blurted out a surprised shout of laughter as Blaine buried his face in his hands. “Does he?” Jason nodded, eyes big as he nibbled on his cookie. “And how do you know that?”

“Heard him telling my Mom,” Jason shrugged. “Do you like him, too?”

Rubbing the back of his neck while he looked up at a deeply embarrassed Blaine and remembered falling asleep with him just hours ago, Kurt could only smile and nod. “I do. He's a good person to like.”

“Okay.” Jason motioned him to stand back up. “Thank you. Can I have a glass of milk, please?”

“It's may I, and yes, you may.” Blaine had recovered just enough to be able to reach down and grab his nephew's hand to lead him into the kitchen. He cast an apologetic glance over his shoulder. “Out of the mouths of babes. I'm sorry.”

“Not at all. The honesty is...certainly refreshing.” Kurt moved past them to pull a plastic cup down and fill it with milk. He lifted his eyebrow and offered Blaine an arch little smile. “And it certainly does away with many of the awkward social conventions of early courtship rituals. I'd almost suspect you of planning it.”

“Uh, no, as much as I'd like to facilitate a speedier progress of our acquaintance, given the time left – yeah, I would have chosen a method that involved embarrassing me less.” Blaine's cheeks were _still_ faintly pink, a fact Kurt found completely enchanting. “Though I admit it's useful to know you do like me back. I had an idea when you fell asleep on me this afternoon, but...”

Now it was Kurt's turn to be bashful. “I'm sorry. I mean, if that made you uncomfortable.”

“Not at all! No, no. I would have said something. Maybe. No, I liked it. I mean, it was nice. I mean,” Blaine seemed to be caught in a furious babbling loop. “Jason! Do you want to go rent a Disney movie with Uncle Blaine and Kurt? I think 'Hunchback of Notre Dame' is out on tape now.”

“Yeah!” Jason gulped down his milk and grabbed Blaine's hand to pull him out to the car. Kurt didn't miss the look of relief on Blaine's face as he pretended to be helpless against Jason's childish charms. Using his longer stride to catch up just as they got to the front door, he leaned over to whisper in Blaine's ear.

“He has to go to sleep sometime, Blaine.”

Watching blushes crawl up the other boy's face was turning out to be a much more entertaining pastime than Kurt would ever have expected.

* * *

“That was terrible.”

As the credits for 'Batman Forever' rolled, Blaine was shaking his head. “Not even Chris O'Donnell in tights redeems that one. What were we thinking?”

“We could have rented 'Clueless',” Kurt replied, rolling over onto his back on the floor. “But no, _someone_ didn't want to look at fabulous fashions or listen to the brilliant _bon mots_ of Cher Horowitz. This -” he pointed at the TV screen, “ -is entirely your fault.”

“No, I suggested a perfectly good movie,” was Blaine's protest. “I've heard nothing but good things about 'Jerry Maguire.'”

“All I know is that you shot down every one of my amazing cinematic choices and could offer nothing suitable in return.” Kurt's tone was teasingly sharp. He rolled his head to look over at Blaine in the flickering light of the television. “This is what happens when you say, 'Oh, let's just pick something, surely random choice can't be that bad.' We end up watching Jim Carrey run around in a putrid green unitard.”

“It was on the Popular Rentals wall,” Blaine pointed out, resting his head on his hand. 

“So was 'Space Jam',” Kurt retorted. “And 'Showgirls'. We live in Lima, Ohio, Blaine, I don't think that wall is really a great representation of whether or not a movie is good.” He rolled back onto his stomach, kicking his feet back and forth as he picked at the carpet. “How's Jason doing?”

Blaine peered under the flowered sheet that made up part of the pillow fort they'd built his nephew. “Out like a light. We can watch the other movie if you want. What'd we get? 'Before Sunrise'?”

“Mm. No. Tired again.” He yawned. “Pass me a pillow?”

“Do you ever sleep in your bed?” Blaine's voice was full of amusement as he scooted over to Kurt's side with a pillow in his hand. “First you sleep on me, now you want to sleep on the floor. You have a perfectly good bed, I know, I sat on it yesterday.”

“Yes, but...” Kurt turned his face away, glad for the dim light of TV. “If I go up there, you have to stay down here with Jason. And I liked sleeping next to you this afternoon.”

Blaine froze, still with the pillow in his hand. “I...I don't think that's a good idea.”

That was unexpected. Now Kurt was even more glad that the light was low, so Blaine couldn't see how that hurt. “Oh. I'm. I'm...I didn't...”

“No. No, Kurt.” Blaine set the pillow aside and lay down next to Kurt, reaching forward to grab his hands. He seemed to sense Kurt's distress despite the difficulty seeing his face. “Kurt, it's just...if I hold you in my arms again, I'm going to want to kiss you. And I don't actually want to rush things or make you uncomfortable or take advantage of you while your father is sick -”

Kurt discovered very quickly that it was easy to shut Blaine up if you just grabbed his face in your hands and kissed him.

This was nothing he'd ever actually practiced. Stage kissing with Rachel in the school play didn't prepare you for a  _real_ kiss, for the awkwardness of too much teeth and tongue, for bumping noses and hands that neither of them seemed to know what to do with.

Nor did it prepare you for the rush of heat from mouth to belly, for the urgency that had them pulling each other closer, slotting their hips together and pushing, grinding together with an unfamiliar desperation. Kurt didn't even know what he was trying to get to, but he  _wanted_ it, wanted it  _now_ . When he hitched his leg over Blaine's and linked them even closer together, a moan spilled out of Blaine's throat, into his mouth and over his tongue where Kurt swallowed it greedily and chased after  _more_ .

A sleepy whine from Jason sent them shoving away from each other all too soon, turning as one to check the fort to see if the boy was awake. When he didn't emerge, they relaxed, Blaine rolling to peek under the sheet again. “Still asleep,” he reported in a whisper, a smile on his bee-stung lips. He edged back over to Kurt, linking their hands together. “So...” he began, taking a deep breath before looking Kurt in the eyes. “Um, not that I'm opposed, but what brought that on?”

“In the spirit of honesty and directness that your nephew so handily established,” Kurt replied, fluttering his eyelashes coyly, “It seemed the very best way to let you know that I very much reciprocate your interest in kissing.”

“Oh, really?” Now it was Blaine's turn to be arch. “You don't say. And did you have any other opinions or ideas that you wished to share, Kurt?”

“Not really.” He shifted forward and wrapped an arm around Blaine's waist, smiling at the surprised gasp elicited when he pulled them close together again. “I actually thought I might like to reiterate my message. To be sure it was coming across clearly.”

In the end, the $3.00 overnight rental fee on 'Before Sunrise' went completely to waste, but neither of them minded at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _**A/N:** So the song that Blaine sings to Kurt is real. It's "[Silk Pyjamas](http://www.mojvideo.com/video-thomas-dolby-silk-pyjamas/e6b63d5fc05eab291cb6)" by Thomas Dolby (yes, he of "She Blinded Me With Science" fame). It's a silly, fun little number from Thomas' 1992 album "Astronauts and Heretics," if you want to go looking for it._
> 
>  _My headcanon is that Skater!Blaine was shopping in a Virgin Megastore on one of his and his mom's trips down into London and he heard this on the overhead speakers and liked it right away._


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> First kisses are meant to be overthought and overanalyzed.

 

* * *

“So _he_ kissed _you_.” Blaine couldn't see Quinn's eyes, but he could see her eyebrows raised in two perfect honey blonde arcs of surprise over the rims of her opaque black sunglasses. “I was not expecting that.”

They were curled up together in the hammock in Quinn's back yard, swaying lazily in the warm summer breeze. She'd dragged her portable stereo outside on a long extension cord; Chrissie Hynde serenaded them while they rocked. “I got brass in pocket,” Blaine sang softly, tugging at lock of pink hair that was tickling his face. “Got bottle, I'm gonna use it.”

“Don't change the subject.” The hammock wobbled dangerously as she shifted up to lean on her elbow, tilting the sunglasses to glare at him with narrowed green eyes. “ _He_ kissed _you_. Not the other way around.”

“He kissed me,” Blaine confirmed with a sigh. It had been three days since Kurt had kissed him, and he could still almost feel it. He ran the pad of this thumb over his lower lip. “He kissed me.”

“Well, that's what you wanted, right?” She snapped her gum impatiently. “You were bound to get around to it sooner or later.” Reaching out, she pulled on one of his curls and let it bounce back. “Blaine. This is a _good_ thing.”

“I'm aware,” he snapped back in irritation. “It's not that. Well, it is that. It's that I want more of it.”

Quinn's eyes rolled skyward. “ _He_ kissed _you_ ,” she said again. “I'm pretty sure that means you're going to _get_ more of it.”

“But when?” Blaine knew he was being whiny and hated it. He also knew that if he kept it up Quinn was going to inflict physical violence upon his person. He just couldn't _help_ it. “I had good reasons for not kissing him right away. A whole list of them! One of which was, 'If I kiss you, I am not going to want to stop.'”

“Still failing to see the problem, also getting jealous,” Quinn informed him, sticking one finger into her mouth to pull her gum out in a long, disgusting lime green string that she brought perilously close to his hair. “How many hours were you making out? It doesn't sound like he wants to stop.”

Now it was Blaine's turn to roll his eyes. “Except that we did have to eventually stop? And we haven't seen each other since, nor do I know when we will see each other again, since his schedule was already insane before his dad got sick? I can't just say, 'Hey, Kurt, any chance you can blow off your dad the heart patient and come stick your tongue in my mouth for a while?' But I also can't get mad about him taking care of his dad and studying and packing.” He blew out his breath in an annoyed huff. “I'm not saying I would have been happy if we went all summer without kissing, I just...something. I don't know.”

“Okay. Do you want Sympathetic Quinn or Ass Kicking Quinn?” She pulled back her sticky hand, sucking the finger into her mouth to get all the gum back together. “Or both? I've been practicing.”

“Both.” He flung his arm over his eyes and tensed, bracing himself for her biting commentary.

“Okay.” Quinn rolled to rest her arms over his abdomen, propping her chin on them as she spoke. “I love you, but shut up. Despite all of us telling you this was a bad idea, you followed your...heart, I guess...and it turned out pretty well for you.” When he opened his mouth to interject, she covered it with her hand. “Uh-uh. Quinn talky now.”

“Mmph,” Blaine agreed, moving his arm to look down at her. She waited a moment before removing her hand, shifting her sunglasses up on her head so that she could meet his gaze full on.

“Yes, it sucks that you don't get to spend unlimited hours kissing Kurt, but hey, at least it turns out that he does actually want to kiss you, and it's nice that you're not being a dick and bothering him about it 24-7 while he's dealing with all the complicated shit in his life.” Her mouth twitched up into a sweet, sad little smile. “More guys should be as considerate as you.”

He grinned. “Thank you, Quincy.”

“Don't let it go to your head.” She tickled him a little, giggling and squealing as his twitching threatened to up-end the hammock. When they'd settled down, she returned to laying across his chest for a moment before raising her head again, as if something had occurred to her. “Have you even called him?”

He squirmed uncomfortably. “Well...”

“Don't say it,” Quinn groaned, dropping her head back down with enough force to make Blaine grunt as her forehead impacted his stomach. “Don't say he kissed you and then you didn't call.”

Blaine thought for a moment, and then said nothing.

“Okay, you're officially stupid,” his best friend snapped, digging her fingers into his sides harder now, pinching instead of tickling. “I'm sorry, hot guy grabs _you_ , kisses _you_ while you're being all gentlemanly and goobery, kisses you all night long to hear you talk about it, and you _don't call_?” Quinn stopped when he yelped in pain, grabbing at her hands to pull them away from where she was threatening to leave bruises. “Unbelievable.”

“I'm not very good at this,” he howled indignantly, covering his face with his hands. “His dad's sick, I didn't want to bother him, I told you! You said I was being considerate!”

“That's before I knew you kissed and told and didn't even have the decency to call him!” She struggled up to her knees, holding her black cotton peasant skirt down against the breeze and carefully leaning out of the hammock to grab the cordless phone that was lying on a table along with an abandoned tray of sandwiches and glasses of lemonade. “Call him. Right now.”

“Quinn, I -”

“ _Now_ , Blaine.” She smacked the phone down onto his chest and wriggled back to lie down at his side again. “Do I need to pinch you another time?”

“No, ma'am.” He clicked the phone on and punched the number in. “I don't even know what I'm going to say.”

“'Hello' is a good place to start,” she quipped unhelpfully, smirking brightly in the face of his responding surly frown.

Blaine listened intently as the phone rang. “I don't think he's – ah, machine.” He made as if to click the phone off, but Quinn reached out to stop him.

“Don't you dare.”

“But Quinn - !” He struggled to pull the phone away from her, but she just stuck her fingers into his side again and wiggled them threateningly.

“Leave a nice message for him,” she instructed, her fierce glare making it clear that she would accept no alternatives.

Somehow, Blaine managed to bumble his way through leaving a friendly message, exchanging glances full of daggers with Quinn as he did. He hung up and tossed the phone over the side of the hammock into the grass, shoving her off of his chest and crossing his arms in a sulk. “There. Happy?”

“Hm. Yes.” Her smile was sweet as she batted her eyelashes at him. “He might even call you back. Especially if he has a thing for clumsy babblers. Better hope for your sake that he does.”

“Very supportive, Quinn.” Blaine rolled his eyes and reached to hug her despite his irritation. “So encouraging, I'm really glad I keep you around.”

“You know I'm only picking.” She snuggled up on him again, shoving her sunglasses back up on her head when they fell down over her nose. “Seriously, though, Blaine. I actually think that against all odds, this looks like it could work out for you.”

“Until he goes to England.” He sighed. “Maybe you were right, Quinn. Maybe I shouldn't have pursued this.”

“Excuse me? Are you wasting that excellent pep talk I gave you not twenty minutes ago?” Her eyebrow lifted and she moved as if she were going to tickle him again. “Where's the Blaine who refuses to worry about the future until it gets here?”

“That Blaine hadn't been kissed by a gorgeous boy...okay, you're right, you're right.” As she twitched her fingers, he hastily raised both hands in surrender before bringing them back down to wrap back around her. “Change of subject then. How are you doing?”

“I'd rather go back to talking about you being confused as to whether you want more kissing or less,” she grumbled.

“Quincy...”

“I'm okay,” Quinn sighed, picking at the black jelly bracelets that festooned her arms, hiding the brutal scars that snaked down the insides of her wrists. “Actually, my therapist wants to cut down to twice a month sessions. She says I'm making progress, I guess because I _didn't_ sleep with Finn at the party.” Her nose wrinkled in wry confusion. “Never mind that I drank half a bottle of tequila after he asked me to.”

“Not so much 'drank' as 'didn't fight Santana when she tackled you to the ground and stuck it in your mouth,'” Blaine reminded her, sticking his tongue out in a noisy raspberry. “No one can blame you for that, who wants to turn Santana down when she's actually being nice for once? For her, anyway. I mean, giving you Cuervo is a pretty generous act from someone who told our kindergarten teacher to go fuck herself during the 'Sharing Is Caring' lesson.”

The hammock shook again with their laughter. “You do have a point,” Quinn agreed when they could talk again. She rested her head against his chest, going quiet for a long time. When she did speak again, her voice was a little shaky. “Finn hasn't even tried to call since the party. Usually he'd be apologizing the next day.”

“That's not a bad thing,” Blaine murmured to her, brushing his fingers through her hair. “Maybe he'll finally leave you alone, Quinn. I wouldn't have a problem with that, Jeff wouldn't, and I _know_ your mom would be happy. It'll be nice for you if he does.”

Tears were leaking from her eyes, dampening his t-shirt and staining it with her black eyeliner. “It just hurts to have it all end like this,” she whispered, her fingers flexing and clenching at the fabric. “With that gross crap at the party and then he can't even apologize.”

“He probably doesn't know what to say, Quinn,” he suggested, thinking back to the little he knew about Finn, having not wanted to really get to know him after his first breakup with Quinn. Finn wasn't a bad guy, just remarkably myopic and indecisive and frankly hamfisted when it came to relationships. Blaine figured that Rachel dumping him – instead of the other way around, for once – probably finally got it through to Finn that he'd gone too far with both girls.

Of course, Blaine privately thought Finn should have come to that conclusion after Quinn slashed her wrists open last fall, but he supposed he couldn't be too picky, given that they were all lucky to still have her around in the first place. He just wanted Finn to leave his best friend alone, and he wanted her to be okay with it. It looked like the first might be happening, finally, so he'd take it and run, and try to help make the second happen.

Tears were still falling, but Quinn was breathing hard in the way Blaine knew well, the pattern that told him she was furious that she was crying at all and was trying to stop it. He tightened his arms around her. “It's okay to cry, Quinn,” he whispered, pressing his lips into her hair and just holding on. “You've earned it. Just cry, please. Get it out. Get it out, Quincy.”

“I don't want to,” she sniffled, wiping her nose on his shirt. “I don't. I don't want to cry over him anymore. I don't want it to _hurt_ anymore. It's all so stupid, it shouldn't hurt so much. He's been so dumb and it was just really making me tired to be with him anyway...”

“I know,” Blaine soothed, running his hands up and down her arms as she shook with the effort of trying to hold back the tears. “You're better than him, Quinn. You know you are.” He knew better than to try bringing up the notion of leaving the state yet again, so he stuck with simply trying to calm her down. “It's all going to work out for you, Quincy. You're going to make awesome things happen for yourself, just like you always told us you would.”

“Doesn't feel like it,” she mumbled, face down and pressed against his stomach as she sniffled and heaved deep breaths. “Just feels like it's going to hurt forever.”

“It won't,” he assured her, but the words were hollow and they both knew it. He couldn't promise that, couldn't make the hurt go away, and he had no idea how much it hurt anyway – it wasn't like he'd ever had his heart broken. In fact, he was head over heels for someone who appeared to return the sentiment. He knew that it pained her further to know that, and he knew how much it cost her to be as supportive as she had been this afternoon.

Blaine was well aware of what a miracle it was that Quinn wasn't shoving him off and screaming for him to get the hell away from her, that he didn't understand and never would understand. Memories of her doing exactly that last fall were still fresh and painful in his mind. She'd been right, but it had still hurt, and what else could he do but just keep coming back to give whatever comfort he could until she would accept it? It was a testament to her strong will, personal growth, and an excellent therapist that she was accepting it now.

In the face of Quinn's naked heartbreak, in his helplessness in not knowing how to make it go away, Blaine reflected that in the end, knowing someone wanted to kiss him made him pretty fucking lucky, and he resolved not to worry about it anymore. At least, not for the moment.

There were more important matters.

* * *

“So, do you want to watch TV?” Kurt helped his father sit down on the couch, adjusting cushions and blankets around him until Burt swatted him away.

“Quit it, kiddo. I can manage my own comfort. I've been sittin' on this couch for longer than you've been alive.” But his smile at his son was a fond one, and he patted the boy on the arm in a silent gesture of thanks. “Why don'tcha get me the paper instead? I watched a lot of TV in the hospital, all that's worth watchin' is Oprah right now and I can do without that.” He cracked a tired smile. “I know more about that woman's personal life than I knew about your mom, and I don't think that's right.”

“Be that as it may, Oprah is undeniably an inspiration,” Kurt harrumphed, sticking his nose into the air before handing his father that day's newspaper. “I'll go warm up some soup for you.”

“Somethin' with flavor in it,” Burt called after him, a plaintive note in his voice. “Hospital food sucks. What am I payin' all that money for insurance for if they can't feed me anything decent?”

“I don't think your insurance actually covers the food, Dad.” Kurt frowned at a can of low sodium chicken noodle, vowing to find some time later to just make a few batches of soup himself. Not that he needed to add more to his already tight schedule... “I'll be out in a minute.”

As he poured the soup into a pot and heated it, he considered the most recent addition to his schedule: Blaine.

Kurt was pretty much a stranger to dating at all, but he'd seen plenty of movies. Those movies seemed to be telling him that going three days without a telephone call was bad. Maybe he should make the call? No. No, he didn't think so. He initiated the kissing, so it seemed like Blaine should call him.

On the other hand, Blaine was obviously reluctant to push things – again, going back to Kurt having to initiate the kissing, because Blaine was being chivalrous. So Blaine was politely waiting for Kurt to call him, not pushing for contact. Kurt stirred the soup, tapping his lower lip with a finger as he thought. No. That didn't work either. He was pretty sure that the chivalrous thing to do in this case was for Blaine to call Kurt.

So how come Blaine hadn't called?

They'd kissed for so long the other night that they'd actually fallen asleep still attached at each others' lips. At least, Kurt thought they had. It was the last thing he remembered, anyway, and besides, he liked to think it was because how incredibly adorable and romantic was the idea of falling asleep kissing?

When he woke up, it was to Blaine pressed up against his back, mouthing softly at the place where Kurt's neck and shoulder met, one arm around his waist and hand splayed open on his stomach. When Kurt turned his head to smile over his shoulder, he was met with bright hazel eyes and a happy, sleepy, soft smile that made his stomach flip.

They hadn't exchanged any words, just moved right into Kurt shifting around so that they faced each other and...more kissing. Soft kisses, slow, wet kisses, morning breath be damned – another one of those kisses that ended up with Blaine yanking Kurt's hips in tight against his and whimpering into his mouth. It had gone on and on until Jason had actually woken up, fortunately making enough noise as he did that they were able to shift apart and adjust themselves into some semblance of modesty before he crawled out demanding Rice Krispies.

Kurt had only been able to supply leftover chocolate cake with ganache icing from the aborted dinner party the other night, which pretty much cemented his place in Jason's affections as an awesome person.

Why had a similar event not taken place with Blaine after they kissed? Granted, buying a four year old's acceptance with chocolate cake seemed like something that would be a no-brainer, something that just about anyone could manage. An 18 year old was a different story, presumably.

But Blaine had chased _him_ , he argued with himself. _Blaine_ asked _Kurt_ out. Blaine had confessed, however inadvertently, that he'd liked Kurt for some time. Blaine had admitted he wanted to kiss Kurt. Was that it? Maybe Blaine was upset because Kurt had made the first move?

That seemed unlik -

The smoke alarm went off shrilly, interrupting Kurt's thoughts and making him jump back away from the stove, where the canned soup was turning unappetizing colors as it scorched. Kurt squeaked and yanked the pan off of the burner, chucking it into the sink and turning the cold water on before hopping frantically to fan smoke away from the alarm with a dishtowel.

“What's goin' on in there?” Burt yelled out, sounding like he was trying to stand up and come investigate. Kurt raced for the kitchen doorway.

“Stay there,” he commanded, flapping his towel behind him. “It's fine. I scorched the soup – I’ll fix another can and have it out in just a minute. Sorry.”

Burt cast him a skeptical glance, but settled back down into his nest on the couch, picking the paper back up. “Uh huh. Whatever you say.”

The alarm finally shut up after Kurt opened a window and lit a vanilla candle to pull the smoke down and out of the room. He decided to play it safe with the second batch of soup and just microwaved it, though normally he – snobbishly, he knew – eschewed using the convenience device. This time the soup was heated without mishap, and he ladled a portion neatly into a bowl for his father, arranging an elegant tray with salt-free crackers, a fresh Bartlett pear, and a glass of sugarless cranberry juice.

He brought it into the living room, placing it carefully on the coffee table. Burt waited until his lunch was safely out of his son's hands and then - “So. Blaine got you distracted?”

“I don't know what you mean.” But Kurt felt his cheeks absolutely burning at the lie, even as he busied himself with straightening a perfectly placed napkin on the tray. “I'm fine.”

“You have never scorched a damn thing cooking in your life. Not even when you were first learning,” Burt scoffed. “Don't kid a kidder, Kurt. You're my kid, I know you. You never put a foot wrong unless something's wrong – so tell your ol' pop why you burned his lunch.”

“I am not having this conversation,” Kurt replied stiffly, straightening up and heading back into the kitchen to get himself a bowl of soup. Burt wasn't letting up, though.

“Look, I gotta admit it's kind of weird thinkin' of you with another guy,” he called out, words punctuated with slurps of chicken noodle. “It's not how I was raised, you know? But things are how they are, you're my son and you're starting to date. I wanna make sure it's goin' okay for you, or whether I need to have some words?”

Kurt knew his face was still a furious red as he walked back into the living room, knuckles white as he clutched at his bowl and spoon. “No, you do not need to have words with _anyone_ ,” he gritted out, perching on the edge of a chair. “Everything is fine.”

“I'm gonna remind you again that this is your second attempt at lunch,” Burt pointed out, smirking at his only child. Clearly, he found this to be the most fun he'd had in a while, and Kurt wished desperately he'd either begun dating sooner or had never gone out with Blaine at all. “Now, if your mom were still here, she'd tell me to lay off you, but she's not, and I'm not gonna coddle you. What's goin' on?”

There was nothing else to do but talk about it, even if it made him uncomfortable and squirmy. Kurt spooned a few bites into his mouth, thinking about how to put it. “I kissed Blaine,” he finally admitted, not looking his father in the eye. “I kissed him, and he hasn't called me. It's been three days.”

“You kissed him?” Burt was impressed. “Wow. Good on ya, Kurt. I gotta say, I was a little worried you were just lettin' yourself be chased -”

“Please stop,” Kurt begged, to no avail.

“But it's good you took the initiative when you wanted it.” Burt took a long swallow of cranberry juice, making a face at the taste of artificial sweetener in it. “So how come you're waitin' around for _him_ to call _you_ now?”

Kurt had the kindest, most supportive father in the world, and just at this very moment he wished he was a million miles away from him. No one had ever told him that beginning to date would be so awkward. _Dear mom,_ he wished silently, scooping more soup into his mouth and pointedly avoiding his father's cheerfully curious stare, _I sort of wish you'd given me a younger sibling to deflect attention from me._ In the next instant, though, he'd taken the wish back – a younger brother or sister would have undoubtedly joined in on the apparent fun of teasing him about his dating life.

“I just think that since I took the big step of kissing him, he could call me,” Kurt eventually said, trying to wrest back some semblance of a casual demeanor. “That's all.”

Burt stared at him for a minute before putting down his spoon and flat out laughing at his son for several minutes, never mind that said son was turning tomato red again and seething. “Kurt,” he sputtered, shaking his head. “You've been my son for eighteen years now. And after you came out to me, I gotta say, I thought that was gonna be the last time you ever surprised me.” Burt snickered as he resumed eating.

Kurt stretched his head up and sniffed. “And what is that supposed to mean?”

“Oh, no, you don't. You don't get to take that snot-nosed tone with me, kiddo.” Burt lifted his spoon to point it at his son, glaring. “Now I know I'm makin' fun of you and you never liked that, but I hope you know that I love ya and really, I'm trying to help.”

Guilt shot through Kurt, making him bow his head in shame. “Of course I know that,” he mumbled, toying with his own spoon. “I'm sorry.”

“I'm sorry, too. This's obviously a sore spot for you.” Burt finished off his soup before he picked up the thread of conversation again. “Now. You wanna know why you're surprising me?”

“Yes, please.” Kurt figured he was going to hear it one way or the other, and it behooved him to simply be polite and hear his father out. He had finished his soup by now as well, and leaned to place the bowl on the coffee table, sitting back with his hands tangled together in his lap.

Regarding his son soberly, Burt thought hard about his words before he let them loose into the room. “Kurt, you're the smartest, strongest kid I know – and I'm not just sayin' it because I'm your dad,” he said slowly, never taking his eyes off of Kurt's face. “I've never once seen you back down from going after what you wanted.” When Kurt said nothing, only watched his father, Burt shrugged and went on. “You like this boy?”

Kurt nodded, cheeks burning. “I do.”

“Then if you like him, don't wait around for him to call, jeez.” He smiled at his son, affection all over his face. “You don't have laryngitis, your fingers aren't broken, pick up the phone and ask him to do something. Or just talk, whatever.”

“You're sick, though.” Kurt frowned, twisting and untwisting his fingers. “And I have to study, and pack. I mean as much as I'd like to, maybe it isn't a good idea...”

Burt groaned. “Don't talk yourself out of it, for Christ’s sake. Call the guy. I'm sick, not broken. You don't have to babysit me. How much trouble can I get into when I'm parked here on the couch like this, anyway?”

“The mind boggles,” Kurt replied dryly, but he got to his feet all the same, moving to pick up the phone. “All right, I'll call him. I'll do it now.”

“That's my boy.” Burt picked up his pear and chomped down into it, shifting the bite over into his cheek so he could talk. “There's a message on the machine, by the way.”

Kurt paused in his journey to the end table they kept the phone on. “Is there.”

“Mmhmm.” Biting into his fruit again, this time the elder Hummel carefully chewed and swallowed it before adding, “Musta been left while you were coming to pick me up at the hospital.”

“You don't say.” Kurt had to make a conscious effort to pull his tongue out of his cheek, where it was making slow, agitated circles. “And did you listen to this message?”

“Yup. While you were burning my lunch.”

“Dad...” Kurt's eyes narrowed and he felt his mouth tightening into a thin line.

“It was really interesting,” Burt volunteered, grinning around his pear.

Kurt reached down and punched the Play button on the answering machine. “You have one new message,” it chirped helpfully in cheerful digital tones.

“Yeah, yeah, get on with it,” Kurt muttered, glaring at his still-grinning father.

“Ah, Kurt, it's Blaine,” came the hesitant, friendly voice that made Kurt fight to hide a smile. “Listen, I know it's been three days, and I'm sorry. I didn't want to bother you too much since I know you're busy and all...”

“Hmm. Interesting,” Burt commented. Kurt waved a hand to shush him.

“I know your dad's coming home soon and you're going to be taking care of him – maybe he's home now, if so, hi, Mr. Hummel, I hope you're feeling better.” Blaine's recorded voice took a deep breath. “But listen, Kurt, if you have a free moment, give me a call? I'm at Quinn's now, but you can page me if you want. I'd love to hang out again sometime. I have to work a lot of this week but just say the word, I'll find a way to see you. If you want to. I hope you do, I want to see you again. The other night...” Now Blaine's voice paused, and Kurt could almost see him groping for words. “The other night was really amazing for me. I hope it was for you, too. Um, give me a call? Okay, I'm gonna go now. Okay. Bye.”

The click and whir of a dial tone filled the room before the machine cut off. Kurt punched to save the message. He felt spots of color rising high on his cheeks and a very silly grin spreading across his face.

“Nice kid,” his father commented, lounging back into the couch cushions, “Maybe next time you can call _him_ first instead of workin' yourself up all crazy over nothin'.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A big thank you to BabyRosebud for stepping up to answer the call for a last minute beta read! Very appreciated, as well as the comments and love from all you crazy readers, thank you!


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> No one is more annoyed about Kurt and Blaine not spending time together than...everyone else besides Kurt and Blaine. But it's Burt who decides what to do about it.

* * *

“...anyway, give me a call back when you can. Hope your dad's still feeling all right. Miss you.” Blaine chucked the receiver back down into the cradle and picked up his ratchet wrench, using it as a microphone. “ _I don't wanna take advice from fools,_ ” he sang along with the skate shop's radio. “ _I'll just figure everything is cool until I hear it from you..._ ”

 

“ _Hear it from you..._ ” Jeff chimed in background vocals with a grin as he put up the skate shop's new stock of knee and elbow pads.

 

Quinn wasn't playing along. Dropping her pencil down onto the notebook she was scribbling lyrics in, she propped her chin on her hand and glared at Blaine. “You know it's been ten days since you and Kurt saw each other.”

 

“Way harsh, Quinn.” Jeff ambled over and dumped a good two handfuls of styrofoam peanuts over his friend's head, ignoring her indignant squeals and adroitly avoiding her flailing attempts to smack him. “That's not, like, supportive.”

 

“Sometimes facts aren't supportive,” she retorted, picking styrofoam out of her hair and grimacing at the squeaking noises it made. “Besides! I am being supportive! I just support Blaine and Kurt actually _seeing_ each other.”

 

“She's got a point, Jeff.” Blaine looked up from where he was setting out his tools to assemble a new board for Mike Chang. “I've gotta admit, I kind of support that, too.”

 

“Well, then, why aren't you trying harder?” Exasperated, Quinn shoved her notebook off of her lap and moved to sit up on the counter next to Blaine's work area. “You just keep playing phone tag like he's not leaving in, what, three months? What was the point of that whole conversation we had the other day if you're going to be all Smiling Buddha about this?”

 

“That's a lot of questions, Quincy. Off the counter.” He poked at her leg with his wrench until she grumbled and hopped down. “To answer: I'm trying as hard as I can, his father _did_ have a heart attack and Kurt _does_ have a lot of work to do. Yes, he's leaving in three months, thanks for that cheerful reminder. And the point of the conversation was to get me to call him, which I did, and now we talk at least once a day. Big improvement.” Picking up a ruler and a grease pencil, Blaine began to measure off drilling points. “I'll take what I can get, okay? I have a lot of work, too. All these orders Mr. Motta's decided I need to handle all by myself.” He gestured around to a large number of skateboards waiting for their new owners, all of which he'd had to build himself after Jeff painted custom artwork on the decks.

 

“But Mike's is the last one, right?” Jeff stuffed all of the stray packaging and peanuts from the padding inventory back into his now empty box and took it over to the shop's back door, dusting off his hands as he wandered back to his friends. “After that you're free from all the overtime.”

 

“Mm. Until you take off for San Francisco next week on vacation, yes.” Blaine raised his eyebrows and grinned at Jeff's guilty blush. “No worries. I can definitely use the money. There's a couple of big competitions coming up in Indianapolis and Cincy come early August, entry fees are steep and gas ain't free.” He stuck the pencil behind his ear and bent down to doublecheck his measurements, only to howl as Quinn's Doc Marten connected with his shin. “What the hell!”

 

She puffed her bangs out of her eyes, getting right up in his face. “Why are you even    
_thinking_   
about spending time going out of town right before Kurt leaves the country?”

 

His shin    
_really_   
hurt. Blaine blinked as his eyes watered in pain and took a second to catch his breath before answering. He noticed Quinn had backed away to the other side of the counter. Good. For about three seconds he had begun rethinking his stance on not hitting girls. “I never abandoned my plan of actually trying to make a living skating,” he reminded her, rubbing the rapidly purpling bruise on his leg. “I want out of Lima, even if you don't.”

 

He hadn't meant it to hurt – it was just something he'd said without thinking - but a shocked intake of breath and the tears that sprang to Quinn's angry green eyes told him that he'd hit a sore spot. “Fuck you,” she hissed, snatching up her things and stuffing them into her backpack. “Just, fuck you, Blaine.” The bells on the door jingled cheerily as she slammed out of the store, contradicting the righteous fury that had propelled her to go. Blaine dropped his ruler down on the counter, burying his face in his hands.

 

“She knows you didn't mean it.” But Jeff was biting his lip even as he said it – they both knew how Quinn could take things much too seriously and could hold a grudge for a long time. “She'll come around.”

 

“I'm usually way more careful – urgh.” Blaine slid his hands into his hair and sighed. “I'm just way more stressed out by all of this than I'm telling her.”

 

Jeff retrieved a broom and began sweeping up the peanuts he'd missed picking up. “You wanna talk about it?”

 

Lifting his head, Blaine regarded Jeff soberly. “You don't mind?”

 

“I'm your friend too,” Jeff pointed out, grinning as he swept. “Not as long as Quinn's been, but I do come with the advantage of being a fellow dude and also less touchy. Not that she doesn't have, you know, good reason to be, but maybe it helps to talk to someone you don't have to be careful around?”

 

“Maybe...” Blaine turned it over in his head as he resumed working on Mike's deck. “I'm not sure what to say, though. I mean, I like him. And we can't spend time together. I don't regret getting involved for a hot second, but sometimes...yeah. Sometimes I'm bummed out and I wonder why I did this.”

 

Jeff paused, leaning on his broom. “Kind of early for that, don'tcha think?” At Blaine's confused look, he elaborated. “You've been together a few times, and not even on what I'd call real dates. And three months isn't as short as you think it is.” He spotted a stray bit of styrofoam and moved to sweep it up. “Take what you can get and then when it's all over, maybe then you can get bummed about about it. I think right now is the time to be happy.”

 

“That easy, huh?” Blaine threw a fond grin at his friend as he carried the marked deck over to the drill press. “Don't worry, be happy?”

 

Shaking his head, Jeff rolled his eyes and laughed. “Uh, yeah, okay, basically.”

 

“I still want to spend time with him, though.” He reached over and pulled a pair of goggles off of a hook on the wall, fitting them over his eyes before positioning the board on the drill platform. “Don't worry, be happy only goes so far if I never see the guy.”

 

“Can't help you there...literally. Sorry again about the vacation thing.” Jeff shrugged helplessly, the guilty look back on his face. Blaine laughed and shook his head.

 

“It's fine. Seriously fine.” He turned his attention to the board, carefully drilling the holes for the trucks while Jeff finished sweeping up the store. When he was done, he picked the deck up and examined the artwork on the bottom. “You did some really nice work here, Jeff. It deserves to be mounted on a wall - I hated having to drill through it.”

 

“Thanks. When are you going to let me do something custom for you?” 

 

“I dunno. Before Cincy, I guess? You can start thinking of designs while you're trying to avoid hanging out with your family if you want.” Blaine winked as Jeff laughed. As he tidied up the drill table, Blaine thought about something else weighing on his mind. “I was thinking of asking Kurt to go with me to Cincy. Like I'd get a hotel room and all. If he could get away.”

 

Jeff's eyes were wide. “Really? Wow.”

 

“Well, I mean, not like that, or it doesn't have to be, or anything, you know, it would just be nice maybe to get away.” Blaine babbled on, flushed and flustered, putting down the deck he was holding as his hands started to sweat. “It was a thought, you know, a whole weekend together or something. I didn't think about the other thing. Much. Kind of. Okay, a little, but not when I came up with it!”

 

“Okay. Um. Breathe, Blaine.” It was clear that Jeff was finding it hard not to laugh at Blaine's frantic explanation. “You're 18, so, like, if you did want that, pretty sure no one would be surprised. No big. And yeah, okay, a weekend getaway before he skips town could be nice.” He put on a ridiculous big grin and clapped his hands to his cheeks . “You could totally play Monopoly! Ooo!”

 

“Okay, now you're kind of being a dick for fun, right?” Blaine dried his hands off and started in on applying the grip tape to Mike's board. “Not cool. Come on, you offered to listen.”

 

“Yeah, and you're telling me Quinn wouldn't be giving you just as much grief?” Jeff's skeptical eyebrow was cocked so high, it disappeared entirely under the flop of his sun-streaked blond bangs. “Seriously.”

 

“Well. No.”

 

“Exactly.” They lapsed into silence for a few long minutes as Blaine carefully trimmed the edges of the tape. “Hey, Blaine?”

 

Blaine didn't look up from his work. “Yeah?”

 

“I might not be sure how to help you with the logistics of spending time with Kurt and all, but...” Jeff set his broom aside and leaned on the counter, expression earnest. “I'm happy that you like him and that he makes you happy even when you can't spend time together. It's cool that you guys connected. I hope it works out.”

 

“Thanks. That...that means a lot, Jeff.” Blaine smiled and nodded at his friend, feeling unaccountably touched. “Seriously, thanks. You're a good friend.”

 

Jeff shrugged. “I do what I can. Give me some time and I might even solve the whole 'not getting to spend time together' issue.”

 

* * *

Across town, Burt Hummel was working on solving that problem himself as Kurt sighed and pressed “save” on Blaine's answering machine message of the day.

 

“Just go _out_ , kid,” Burt argued as he flipped through the channels on the TV. “He's workin' at the skate shop, go visit, he won't mind and I'll be fine here.”

 

“You're more important than me going out on a date,” Kurt tossed over his shoulder as he made his way briskly over to the sidebar where Burt's array of medications was kept. As he tipped out the various pills and put them into a cup, Burt sighed. He _used_ to be proud of having such a stubborn kid...

 

“I've been out of the hospital for a week. The doctor said I was doing fine not two hours ago,” he argued, keeping an eye on his son in the dining room. Kurt's expression didn't change.

 

“He said you were doing better, and not as well as he would have liked,” the boy retorted as he brought the medication cup in along with some water and a sandwich. “You're my only parent, Dad. Let me do my part keeping you around.”

 

“I don't need babysitting,” Burt grumbled as he ate his lunch, but he knew it was a losing argument. Kurt hadn't achieved his many distinctions because he was easy to sway. Burt was going to have to play dirty, somehow. 

 

He chewed at his sandwich, thinking hard while Kurt curled up in a chair with his checklist of “Things Required” from RADA and his own “Things I Cannot Live Without In London” list. There wasn't a lot of overlap between the two, and Burt thanked goodness that he and Lizzie had had the foresight to open a little college fund for their boy. Maybe it would cover overweight luggage fees and the cost of shipping over whatever wouldn't fit in his bags.

 

“Look, Dad,” Kurt began, not looking up from his lists. “I appreciate you trying to encourage me to be a normal teenager. I love spending time with Blaine. But I am leaving soon and whether you like it or not, you do need someone around to make sure you get in the habit of eating well and taking your medications before I go.” He smiled, ticking things off between his lists. “Besides, Blaine doesn't mind.”

 

 _Like fun he doesn't_   
, Burt thought. Gay Blaine might be, but he was still a teenage boy interested in another teenager, and Burt remembered what it was like being a teenage boy. Probably he really shouldn't be encouraging it, actually, he realized, then shrugged. Kurt was 18 and smart, and Blaine wasn't a slouch in the brains department either, from what Burt had overheard while the boy spoke with James. Besides, they were both good kids. And he really wanted a couple of hours to himself, being cooped up with a nervous, agitated Kurt was starting to get on his nerves. “I bet he does mind, and he's just too nice to say anything,” Burt tried. “You only have three months, kid. You should spend time with him.”

 

His son bit his lip then, and set the lists aside. “Actually, I've been wondering if I should go at all. Maybe I should defer for a year.”

 

Burt nearly lurched off of the couch in his surprise. “What? Absolutely not, Kurt. You're going.”

 

“I don't think it's a good idea...I should stay here with you. And then I wouldn't have to worry about leaving Blaine in three months, because I'd still be here helping you and as you got better, I could spend time with him.” Kurt had obviously thought about this more than a little. Burt ground his teeth in annoyance.

 

“Forget it. You're going.” He would hear nothing more of it. “Three months is more than enough time to get me back on my feet, and even if it weren't, Sarah comes around every other day to check on me. I'm not gonna have you giving up this thing you worked for half your life just because my ticker's a little tired sometimes.”

 

Kurt stared at him, eyes wide with shock and pen frozen over his papers. “Dad...”

 

“No. End of discussion.” He turned off the TV and reached for that day's paper, now thoroughly irritated. This was the last straw. What was wrong with his kid? Why wouldn't he stop trying to parent his parent? _Go be a kid, kid_ , Burt silently pleaded.

 

The jingle of car keys caught his attention. Kurt had gotten up and was putting his wallet in his pocket, a subdued expression on his face. “I'm going to the store,” he murmured, not looking at his father. “We're out of vegetables and cranberry juice.”

 

An idea sprang into Burt's head, and it was perfect. “Actually, you can't do that,” he blurted out, stopping Kurt as he was knotting a scarf around his neck. “You're grounded.”

 

“Grounded?” Kurt's face was a study in astonishment, and Burt couldn't blame him. This was actually the first time Kurt had ever heard those words in the entirety of his short life. “You can't be serious. Weren't you just saying I needed to get out?”

 

“Grounded from using my car,” Burt clarified, and stifled a laugh as his son continued to look completely baffled. “You have to use yours.”

 

Kurt began to visibly panic. “But I can't drive stick! And you can't teach me!”

 

“I guess you're just gonna have to find someone to teach you, then,” Burt replied, snapping open the newspaper and eyeballing Kurt over the top of it. “What kinda car did you say Blaine drove again?”

 

As the realization hit Kurt, his jaw dropped and he appeared to be unable to speak for several long minutes. All at once, he gathered himself together and stood ramrod straight, continuing on with his preparations to leave. “It was a good effort, Dad. Very funny. I'll be going now.”

 

“I'll just call the Chief of Police and report my car stolen,” Burt informed him almost lazily, enjoying this to the hilt. “You're not going anywhere in any car with an automatic transmission, kiddo. I suggest you call down to Motta's and arrange yourself a driving lesson for today if you want to go to the store.”

 

“Why are you being like this?” Kurt's voice was higher pitched than normal and strangled with frustration. Burt could only shrug.

 

“Why are you?” he countered, picking up the Local section and glancing over the headlines. “I'm giving you a free pass to spend time with a boy you like who obviously likes you. And you're right, I can't teach you stick any time soon and you ought to at least learn some basics before you go.” He cocked a curious eyebrow at his son. “Most kids would be trippin' over themselves to take advantage of this. Hell, most parents wouldn't be insane enough to offer it, much less actually make it happen.”

 

“Most kids didn't spend two days worrying that their only living parent was possibly going to die,” Kurt shot back, looping his scarf off and twisting it in his hands. “I'm trying to take care of you!”

 

“And I'm tryin' to take care of _you_ , Kurt.” Burt informed him, setting the paper down on his lap with a noisy crumple. “You got three months before you leave the country for the first time in your life, before you go study at one of the best acting institutions in the world. It's gonna be hard! And you've already had it hard for a while, even if you never let on that you were stressed out.” Words abandoned him for a moment, and he cast about looking for how to put his next thought. “Kid, you've always been a little adult. And in three months you're gonna leave home to be an actual adult. Yeah, me havin' a heart attack was bad timing, but I just want you to be a normal kid for the next three months. Let me give you that.”

 

Kurt was clearly beginning to waver, his hands relaxing around the scarf. “Dad...”

 

“And frankly, kiddo, I want to be able to take a crap without you knockin' on the door every few minutes askin' me if everything's okay in there.” Burt grinned as the words broke the tension between them and made Kurt blush bright red. “I've been goin' to the bathroom on my own for a while now, I think I can manage.”

 

“Oh, God,” Kurt gurgled out, dropping the scarf and covering his face with his hands. “Fine. _Fine_. I'll call him, only if you promise to never refer to yourself and the bathroom ever again.”

 

“I think I can make that promise.” Burt snapped the newspaper up and started to read in earnest. “Now go take that phone and arrange yourself a driving lesson. For tonight. I'm savin' the Sports section for when you leave.”

 

“Oh God,” Kurt groaned again, scooping up the phone as he left the room in a cloud of embarrassment. Burt could only grin. Why hadn't he encouraged his son to start dating sooner? This was the most fun he'd ever had in his life.

 

* * *

“So let me get this straight,” Blaine remarked, taking excessive care with inserting his key into the ignition and revving the Volvo to life. “Your dad grounded you for us _not_ spending time together?”

 

“Yes. That would be accurate,” Kurt confirmed as he finished buckling his seat belt and arranged the shoulder strap so that it didn't crumple his vintage Armani summer weight blazer. “I am strictly forbidden to use his car for the rest of the summer.”

 

“And you have to spend at least two hours every couple of days with me.” The grin on Blaine's face as he said this all but lit up the car. “Like it's an actual condition of your punishment. You know, I am not sorry. Not at all.”

 

Kurt found himself mesmerized watching Blaine's arm and leg as the other boy shifted gears. He told himself he was watching so closely because it was very educational and useful for him to see what rhythm one moved in when driving stick. Not at all because in the baggy draped shorts and sleeveless t-shirt Blaine was wearing, it was easy to watch his muscles at work under the smooth, tanned skin and its light dusting of dark hair. And certainly not because Kurt wanted to just lightly bite at the curve of Blaine's bicep or trace the line of his thigh with his fingers. Nope.

 

When Blaine looked over at him, curious at his silence, Kurt breathed a sigh of relief that they'd had to wait for Blaine to close up the store before their lesson, so it was dark and Blaine couldn't tell he was ogling. He hoped. “I'm not either,” he confessed, willing his raging hormones to    
_calm down, please_   
. As casually as he could manage, he raised his fingers to loosen his shirt collar a little. “I feel like I should feel very guilty about not being with him when he's still recovering, but he did engineer all of this, so I really...can't.”

 

“Me neither.” Blaine seemed slightly distracted as he drove, as if he were looking for something. Just as Kurt was about to ask him about it, he appeared to find it, yanking the station wagon's steering wheel to the right and guiding the car into a large, deserted parking lot. Within what seemed like seconds, he had them parked in a dark back corner of the lot and was out of his seat belt, swinging onto his knees and reaching to pull Kurt in close. “You have no idea how not guilty I feel,” was all he said before he brought his mouth down in a steamy kiss, his tongue diving right in to curl warm around Kurt's.

 

Instinct brought Kurt's hands to Blaine's waist, curling into the dips and swells of his sharply defined abdominal muscles where they were draped in soft, worn cotton. They were too aware of their public position – no matter how dark, anyone could happen by at any moment – to give in fully to the urge to pull Blaine down into his lap, to press up as close as he could get, no matter how much he wanted to. And Kurt wanted to, so badly it surprised him. He contented himself with impulsively slipping one hand up under Blaine's thin t-shirt, laying his palm so that it wrapped around the smooth expanse of skin that was the other boy's side, his thumb running over the definition of his six-pack. His other hand slipped up to the back of Blaine's neck and buried itself in a fistful of silky dark curls, gripping tight as their kiss deepened in intensity. A groan escaped Blaine's throat and he rolled his hips forward, almost tumbling down into Kurt's lap after all. 

 

He pulled back then as abruptly as he'd initiated the kiss, giving Kurt's bottom lip one last bite before he slipped back down into the driver's seat and breathing heavily. “Right, okay, yeah,” he mumbled, trying to yank his hand through his hair and failing as it got stuck in the curls. 

 

Kurt shifted in his seat, trying to calm his own self down. “I didn't mind that at all, but...why?”

 

Throwing his head back in an infectiously happy laugh, Blaine buckled himself back in and started the car back up, steering them to the middle of the parking lot under the bright lights. “I wanted to make sure you understood clearly what all was included in your lessons so that you would be encouraged to continue with them,” he replied, a cheeky grin spreading across his face.

 

“Oh. I _see_.” Kurt nodded, a self-satisfied smile of his own emerging to respond to Blaine's. “Well, that is an unexpected but completely welcome addition to class, Mr. Anderson.”

 

“Glad you think so.” Blaine winked as he freed himself from his seat belt again, sliding over to unbuckle Kurt's and guide him over his lap into the driver's seat. Kurt couldn't help but chortle helplessly even as his blue jean clad butt brushed over Blaine's groin and he made immediate note of the unmistakable interest there.

 

 _I'm not sure how to thank Dad for this without it getting really awkward_   
, Kurt thought, listening carefully as Blaine began to explain the basics of manual driving to him in simpler terms than Burt had.    
_But this was probably the best idea in the **world**_   
  
**.**   


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song in the shop is [Til I Hear It From You](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2ZK23sxkpk0) by the Gin Blossoms, my favorite overall band from the 90's.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Navigating the waters of dating for the first time can result in a real test of one's skills in the delicate art of compromise.

* * *

“Okay, Quinn.” Blaine stood outside of the white painted bedroom door, knocking steadily. “It's been a week. You know I didn't mean it. Open up.”

 

“Fuck off,” came the muffled order from the other side, followed by increased volume on the sound of Veruca Salt's “Seether” blasting from Quinn's stereo. Blaine sighed and dropped his head as Mrs. Fabray patted him on the shoulder.

 

“She'll come around, Blaine,” Judy soothed with an encouraging smile. “I'm sure whatever happened between the two of you, it'll never be worse than when you cut off all her hair in second grade. And she only refused to talk to you for a couple of days after that!”

 

“Yeaaaah...” Blaine wasn't so sure. Quinn had had several years in which to hone and perfect the art of holding a grudge; she was an expert at it now. He was probably going to have to grovel for a month in order to make up for one off the cuff thoughtless comment.

 

He did have one secret weapon that might help cut down on the grudge holding time, though. The paper bag in his other hand rustled as he lifted it up and shook it. “I have a present for you.” 

 

Quinn's stereo had moved on to shriek out Hole's “Violet”, sending Judy fleeing downstairs with her ears covered and a horrified look on her face. Blaine bit back the laugh that threatened to bubble up. “I told you to fuck off, Blaine. You have nothing I want,” Quinn's voice shouted over Courtney Love's piercing howls. 

 

“Connie's M&M cookies baked especially for you?”

 

The door was abruptly yanked open to reveal Quinn standing hipshot in jeans and a battered "Blondie" t-shirt. Her hair was pulled up in sloppy, spiky pigtails and her face had been carefully arranged in a surly glare. “I'm listening.” 

 

He handed the bag of cookies over. “You want to let me in?” 

 

Backing up, Quinn pulled the more widely open, not speaking as she let him pass into the room. Blaine moved to hop up onto the canopy bed in the corner, leaning back on his hands as he waited for her to make the next move. Too many years of being friends with Quinn Fabray had taught him that she'd open up when she was damn good and ready, not a moment before. She could be bribed into some cooperation, but she had to let off steam, first. That was why he'd waited a full week before coming by; sooner, and Blaine would have found himself ducking stuffed animals and assorted other projectiles. 

 

Sure enough, after a few moments of Blaine waiting patiently, Quinn huffed out a sigh, rolled her eyes, and stomped over to the mini-fridge in the corner, retrieving two bottles of apple juice. She tossed one over to him, waiting for him to catch it before joining him on the bed. They sat staring at each other for a while before Blaine finally broke the silence. “Okay. Are you ready to talk about it?” 

 

“Maybe.” Quinn pulled the bag open and extracted a cookie, munching on it thoughtfully for a minute. A happy smile spread across her face. “Okay. Yes.”

 

“Good.” He nudged up against her, jostling her shoulder. “I'm sorry I was thoughtless and an ass.”

 

She took another bite of cookie before relenting. “Apology accepted. And I'm sorry, too. For kicking you and for overreacting.” 

 

“I can accept that.” He cracked open his apple juice, taking a long drink before jostling her again and swiping a cookie. “So what was all that about, anyway?”

 

Quinn looked down at her hands, breaking off pieces of candy from the cookie and eating them separately. When she'd completely dismantled the cookie, she bit her lip and looked at him. “I do want to get out of Lima, you know. I really do.” 

 

“You've got a weird way of showing it. You didn't even apply to any colleges,” Blaine protested, perplexed. “You _said_ you didn't want to leave town.”

 

“I didn't want to jinx it...” She glanced away again. “I did apply to colleges. Well, to a college. One.” After a moment or two of picking at the bright red bedspread, she met his gaze again. “I applied to Columbia.”

 

“Seriously?” Blaine was stunned as Quinn nodded. “Wow. Wow! Columbia! That's awesome!”

 

“Mmhmm.” She fell silent, picking at the bedspread again. “I didn't get in.”

 

The wind went out of Blaine's sails as quickly as it had filled them. “Oh, Quinn.” He pulled her into a hug, murmuring into her hair, “Why didn't you say anything?” 

 

He felt her shrug. “I didn't tell anyone. Just in case...” A deep, shaky breath told Blaine that Quinn was struggling to not get upset. “Just in case I didn't get in. Then the only person disappointed would be me.” 

 

Blaine could only shake his head. “Letters came _months_ ago. Fuck, Quinn, you must have been holding back on this for ages. You shouldn't have carried that alone.” 

 

“I didn't want to tell everyone that I'd been rejected _again_ , Blaine.” Quinn pushed back, angry all over again. “I was hoping that after all the shit and awfulness of this year that I'd get to finally say hey, look, I'm not a complete fuck up. But I can't say that, because they don't want me. Finn doesn't want me, my dad doesn't want me, Columbia University doesn't want me...” Pulling away, she huddled up into herself, wrapping her arms around her legs. “No one wants me,” she whispered, bowing her head to touch her knees.

 

“Okay, you know that's not true.” Blaine reached over and risked tickling her, earning himself a swat. “No, come on! You applied to one school. There's probably a dozen other schools who are totally missing out on the Quinn Fabray Experience and don't even know it because you didn't apply.”

 

“I wanted to go _there_. That was my dream school. I was sure it had to work out.” She curled up more tightly on herself. “It _should_ have.”

 

“Okay, yeah, maybe, but life's not a movie.” He scooted close and slung his arm around her. “If it were, you totally would have gotten in. Maybe it just, you know, wasn't the right time. Or hey, Columbia's not the right place.”

 

“Maybe...” But she was doubtful, her voice still spiked with bitterness. Blaine reached up and tugged at one of her pigtails.

 

“Hey. Finn and your dad? They suck. You know that. So it was a good thing that they're not in your life now. Let's assume Columbia was going to suck, too.”

 

She shot him a wry glare, but she was beginning to let the hint of a smile play over her lips. “Blaine. Columbia is an  _excellent_ school.”

 

“They turned down Quinn Fabray. Therefore, they suck. End of story.” This time when he tickled her, Quinn giggled and didn't sling a punch at him.

 

“I should probably tell my therapist about this, shouldn't I?” 

 

“And your mom,” Blaine agreed. Quinn rolled her eyes.

 

“And my mom.” They jostled back and forth playfully for a bit, finally settling down only when they were both helpless with laughter. She rested her head on his shoulder. “God, I feel so much better.”

 

“Because you talked about it.” He reached over and booped her nose. “Don't wait so long, next time.”

 

“Whatever.” She pinched his leg through his jeans. “I'm done with it. Enough. So. You and Kurt?”

 

He pretended to examine his fingernails. “What about me and Kurt?”

 

“Blaine...”

 

Blaine relented – to a point. “He's grounded, actually.” At her horrified stare, he grinned and added, “And his punishment is driving lessons with me.”

 

Quinn could only blink at him in disbelief. “You  _are_ joking. You have actually got to be joking.”

 

“Nope, cross my heart.” Blaine sketched his finger over his heart to confirm the childish pledge, grinning broadly. It was fun to be able to tease Quinn with this again. Half the time it seemed like she was more invested in the development of his relationship with Kurt than he was. “It was all his dad's idea. I had nothing to do with it, seriously.”

 

“You know you're the luckiest asshole alive, right?” She shook her head, still clearly unable to fully believe it. Reaching for the bag of cookies, she yanked out another and shoved half of it into her mouth in one bite, speaking around the treat in defiance of ever rule of etiquette her mother had ever taught her. “You _do_ know that?”

 

“I do all right, yeah,” Blaine agreed, laughing as she shoved him right off of the bed. He bounced immediately back up to his feet, leaping onto the bed and tickling Quinn senseless. “Yes, Lucy Quinn Fabray, I am aware that I am supremely lucky. Well...” Trailing off, he wondered how to bring up something that had been bugging him. He half-thought saying something would jinx everything, but he couldn't get it off his mind. “Quinn...is it weird that I'm waiting for the other shoe to drop?”

 

“For you? Uh, yeah.” Scooting back against the headboard, Quinn patted her lap, signaling him to lay his head down in it. When they were settled and she was playing with his hair, she spoke again. “Don't be me, Blaine. I'm the pessimist, you're happy sunshine guy. And everything seems to be going really well. So what are you worried about?”

 

“Um, life's not a movie,” he reminded her, groping around fruitlessly for the bag of cookies without looking. “Everything has been _perfect._ He's hot, he's funny, he's brilliant and driven and talented and he _likes_ me. His _dad_ likes me. We kiss like it's going out of style and it's...” A goofy grin sprawled across Blaine's face as he thought about it. “It's _amazing_. I could kiss him forever and be happy. It's too perfect. There's another shoe just waiting to drop, I know it.”

 

Quinn stared down at him. “I will push you off of this bed again,” she commented finally, shaking her head. At his astonished gaping, she elaborated. “The shoe has already dropped, you idiot. He's  _leaving_ . And his dad had a heart attack. Oh, and let's not forget the time he kissed you and you took three days to call him back.” She raised an eyebrow at him and stared him down. “Your thing with Kurt is sickeningly adorable, Blaine, but it's not perfect. Don't invite problems.”

 

He looked up at her and sighed. “You could have just said, 'Shut up, Blaine,' and left it at that. Would have taken less time.” 

 

With a sweet smile, she stuffed a cookie into his mouth and kissed her hand, pressing her fingers to his forehead. “Shut up, Blaine.” 

 

* * *

“Plans for tonight?” Kurt buckled his seat belt and slotted the Volvo's key into the ignition, waiting patiently for Blaine to settle himself into the passenger's seat.

 

“Well, um, you've been doing really well, so...why don't you take us the long way around to Breadstix and we'll get dinner?” Blaine's smile was hopeful, making Kurt pause. They'd been sticking to the driving lessons for the last couple of weeks, running errands and occasionally stopping for furtive make-out sessions on dark side roads. This had allowed them to see each other regularly without delving into the worrisome territory of dating. It was the only thing that kept Kurt from feeling too awfully guilty about what leaving his father alone and neglecting his studies.

 

He _knew_ he was being ridiculous – his father had, after all, not just encouraged this but even engineered it. And he did study quite a lot of the time, more than was probably necessary. Remaining free time was spent organizing his belongings and beginning to pack. 

 

But Kurt couldn't help it. After the initial excitement of their relationship – if that's even what you could call it – had worn off, it had given way to worry, because that was simply Kurt's nature. The only way he could justify to  _himself_ that this thing with Blaine was okay was to keep things within certain boundaries. 

 

Problem: Blaine made it too easy for Kurt to want to blur those boundaries. 

 

Obviously Kurt couldn't trust himself, so he'd just have to have a talk with Blaine. He'd lay out his boundaries and concerns and they would work this out so that it was the best situation for both of them. It was best this way. After all, Kurt would be leaving in two and a half months or so, they really ought to keep themselves from getting in over their heads. 

 

He ignored the niggling little voice that was telling him it was already much, much too late. 

 

Blaine wriggled slightly in the passenger seat, catching Kurt's attention. He was starting to look worried at Kurt's long silence. Quickly, Kurt forced a smile onto his face and nodded. “Breadstix! Sure! Absolutely!” 

 

He relaxed when Blaine began to breathe again, and started the car, pulling carefully out into the street. He managed to keep up with idle chitchat as they drove slowly through Lima. There was never enough attention to give to more involved conversations during their lessons, anyway. Blaine's focus was entirely on coaching and encouragement, and Kurt's focus was on neither stalling nor wrecking Blaine's car. He'd gotten better about the stalling over the last couple of weeks, but he still managed to humiliate himself by stalling twice on the way to the restaurant, distracted as he was by his concerns. 

 

“You're doing really well for two weeks of lessons, Kurt,” Blaine told him as they walked into Breadstix. “Soon you won't be stalling at all! Another two weeks and I bet we'll be able to switch over to your car.”

 

“It's embarrassing,” Kurt grumbled, signaling to the hostess that they needed a table for two. “I'm smart, I should be able to _get_ this.” 

 

“I'm sure tons of the world's finest thinkers are completely incapable of driving stick,” Blaine consoled him, nudging playfully at his arm. “Chill out. I'm telling you, Kurt, you're doing really well. And I am not just saying that because I enjoy the less, um, academic portions of our lessons.”

 

“Me too,” mumbled Kurt in return, preoccupied again with how to bring up his worries, and now having pleasant memories of amazing kisses joining in and complicating his thought processes even more. Life had been so much less difficult to figure out before Blaine. Of course, it had also been a lot less fun. He didn't know what to do.

 

Blaine, thankfully, didn't seem to notice his mental wandering, cheerfully following the hostess to their table and keeping up a stream of encouraging chatter. They took their seats, ordering drinks and picking up their menus. Kurt stared at his with no idea of what he wanted. “I think I'm going to go with the chicken alfredo,” Blaine decided, tilting his head to look at his options. 

 

“I just feel so bad being with you,” blurted Kurt without thinking, and immediately he clapped his hand across his mouth in horror. He hadn't _meant_ to just come out with it and was mortified, especially seeing a flash of hurt go across Blaine's face. Apparently his brain had decided to take off without him. Great.

 

Awkward silence ruled the table for several painfully long moments. Blaine's eyes were wide in astonishment, his hands curled around the menu. “Ooooo...kay,” he finally managed to get out, putting the menu down with effort. “Uh, thanks?” 

 

Kurt picked up a breadstick and began to mindlessly tear it to shreds. “That didn't come out right,” he confessed, feeling his cheeks burn with embarrassment. “I mean, I do, but, that wasn't how I had intended to say that.” 

 

“Yeah, that's not really making me feel a lot better.” Blaine's tone was nonchalant, but Kurt could see the hurt in his eyes just before he looked down at the table. Feeling like he'd just kicked a puppy, Kurt hurried to explain.

  
“I feel selfish...guilty,” he began, pulling a second breadstick out of the basket and starting to reduce it to crumby rubble. “With everything my dad is going through, I feel like I should spend more time with him.” 

 

Blaine sighed, lifting his head up only to prop it on his chin and avoid looking at Kurt. “He's the one who _grounded_ you until we started spending time together. I mean, I know it was a joke, but come on, Kurt – obviously your dad is okay with this.” 

 

“I know, I know, these are all points I've made to myself, but...” Kurt cast about for the right words, wanting to reassure this gorgeous boy that it was more about his own conscience than anything else, and certainly not because Kurt didn't want to spend time with him. The world of potential dating was nearly uncharted territory for Kurt. He'd never had to balance what he _wanted_ against what he felt he _should do_ before. Until now, what he'd _wanted_ had never really come into the equation. He didn't know what to do with it. 

 

Blaine still wouldn't look at him. “But what?” he asked, his voice flat and toneless. Only Kurt's long acquaintance with hiding the less palatable of his emotions let him identify that Blaine was trying not to let how hurt his feelings were to show through. It made his heart ache to know he'd so thoughtlessly caused it. _I have got to learn how to be less of a social disaster,_ Kurt thought to himself before finally answering Blaine. 

 

“Too much thinking,” he admitted. “Which is really the point. This is who I am. I worry.” He spread his hands out, offering an apologetic smile that Blaine, still avoiding his gaze, didn't see. Kurt sighed. “I had a really full life before you came into the picture, and then dad got sick. Everyone says I don't have to choose, but it's my _dad_. I do feel like I have responsibilities there. And it's not fair to you!” He reached across the table and grabbed Blaine's other hand, hoping to make the other boy look at him again. “Half the time when I'm with you, I'm thinking of other things.”

 

Blaine's mouth worked, his jaw tightening as he breathed deeply through his nose. Finally, he looked at Kurt, his eyes dark and shuttered over. “ _Don't_ worry so much, Kurt. It's only driving lessons.” 

 

The waitress came then to take their orders and drop off salads. Kurt waited for her to leave before squeezing at Blaine's hand and resuming the conversation. “I'm really overloaded. This doesn't _feel_ like a driving lesson, it feels like a date. And I don't feel like I have the room in my schedule for dates right now. I don't think I can have a social life.” 

 

A tiny, slightly cynical smile tugged at Blaine's lips. “So, what? Are you saying it's possible that we could be anti-social?” 

 

The bitter joke went through Kurt like a knife. “I have this theory of convergence,” he answered carefully, running his thumb over the warm fingers he held. “Where good things happen with bad things. And I don't know why it has to be that way, it just, you know, it is. I know we all have to deal with it, because that's life...” Words began to run away from him again, seeming just out of reach. “I just wish I could work out a schedule! Am I just babbling? Do you know what I mean?” 

 

“Nope.” Blaine was smiling a little more gently now, but his eyes were still wary as he appeared to be trying to work out where Kurt was going with this. “Kurt, are...are you saying you don't want to continue with this? With us?”

 

“No! Not at all!” The words erupted from him with more force than he intended as he panicked at the idea of not seeing Blaine at all. “All it is, is that I don't want things to get too heavy. I want to keep things on the level they're on now. It's all complicated enough without expanding what we do into something bigger.” He glanced down at their linked hands, swallowing. “I...really, _really_ like you, Blaine. You know that. It all comes down to...really, I mean...I don't want to wake up one morning and realize that I'm in a serious relationship with someone I'm about to leave. It'll hurt us both.”

 

The fledgling, fleeting smile had now vanished from Blaine's face entirely. “So...where are we exactly, then?” 

 

Kurt tilted his head and thought about this as the waitress refilled their barely-touched drinks. “Friends,” he finally said. “We're friends. Good friends.” 

 

Leaning back, Blaine tugged his hand out of Kurt's and gazed at him speculatively. The tentative smile twitched at his mouth again – and this time, it reached his eyes, accompanied by hope. “What about friends...with potential?” 

 

The question took Kurt aback a bit, given the discussion they'd just had, but he couldn't bear to extinguish that light of hope. Not if it meant denying that despite his own best intentions to keep things controlled, that same hope smoldered in his heart, the hope that somehow they _could_ manage it even though it seemed like a painful, difficult, impossible idea all around. “Friends with potential,” he finally agreed, nodding and smiling despite the troubled flutter in his stomach. 

 

“I can deal with that.” Blaine visibly relaxed then, like an uncoiling spring. “You still need driving lessons, though. Does this all mean we still get to pull over and make out?”

 

As if Kurt was going to give that up. “Yes. Yes, it absolutely does. Just...no more springing dates or date-like activities on me, I think. Not right now.” 

 

Blaine nodded, lips pursed. “I'll take that compromise if you'll buy us tiramisu to split.” 

 

“I'll take it if you'll accept my offer to go Dutch,” Kurt countered, pulling out a third breadstick – but actually eating this one, this time. 

 

“Deal,” Blaine responded, grabbing a breadstick of his own and shooting a heart-melting grin at Kurt right before he bit down into it. “Hm. That ended up way less painfully than it started out. Cool.”

 

“I _am_ sorry about just kind of dropping that on you.” The knot of worry that had taken up residence in his chest as soon as he blurted out his stupid words began to loosen as he watched Blaine relax. “I didn't mean to hurt your feelings.”

 

Blaine batted big, innocent eyes at him. “It's okay. You can make it up to me later.” 

 

“Oh, can I?” Kurt lifted one eyebrow. He had a fairly reasonable idea of where this was going. “Do tell.”

 

“No way,” Blaine replied, licking the butter off of his breadstick in a manner that was blatantly suggestive. “Much more fun if I just show you. Let's plan our route home...”

 

* * *

Two hours later, Blaine finally dropped Kurt off in front of his home and waved to Burt before he pulled away. A block from the house, he finally let the smile he'd been holding onto fall, and his shoulders drooped as well. 

 

He'd been right. Or maybe he'd been inviting trouble, as Quinn had said. Whatever the case, a shoe had dropped. Maybe. He wasn't sure. They'd left things off on a really good note, considering how dinner had begun. But then there was dinner, or at least that hurtful conversation. And Blaine _knew_ Kurt hadn't meant to hurt his feelings, so it was easy to forgive him... 

 

...but that didn't mean it hurt any less. 

 

Blaine wasn't about to touch the mixed messages of “I can't get into anything heavy,” and “Please, yes, more, now.” He didn't know where he'd begin to untangle them. Except that he was pretty sure Kurt wasn't using him for physical gratification – if he hadn't been certain, Blaine _would_ have ended it the minute Kurt had told him he didn't want a relationship. 

 

Well, he was pretty sure he would have. 

 

Maybe. 

 

Steering the car to the side of the road, Blaine thumped his head down on the steering wheel as soon as he'd safely parked. No one had ever told him that a relationship...or whatever this was...that went well would still be complicated. He wasn't dumb, looking at Quinn and Connie told him that relationships in general were work. He'd just thought that things like this between two people who were compatible on several levels would be _less_ work, less complicated, and it wasn't. 

 

His pager buzzed in his pocket. Pulling it out, Blaine saw the apartment phone number flash on the screen next to the time, and winced. Connie had picked up an overnight shift for one of the other nurses, and he'd promised to be home fifteen minutes ago to stay with Jason. A muffled curse accompanied the roar of the engine as he fired it up and took off, making it home in record time. 

 

“Connie, I'm so sorry,” he babbled as he let himself into the apartment. “Time got away from me, I'll be more careful -”

 

“Blaine. Relax.” His sister emerged from the kitchen, still dressed in her civvies and smiling at him. “Actually, I'd hoped you'd call before heading home. I was going to tell you that Carole Hudson picked up my shift tonight, so you could stay out a little longer with Kurt, if you wanted.”

 

Blaine flopped down onto the couch. “I dropped him off about thirty minutes ago. And even if I wanted to spend more time with him, it wasn't going to happen.” 

 

Connie stared at him thoughtfully for a moment before disappearing back into the kitchen. Blaine heard the thump of the freezer door opening and closing and a drawer rattling before she bustled out again, shoving a spoon into his hand and flopping down next to him with a pint of Cookies 'n Cream in her grasp. “Okay, little brother, talk,” she ordered, peeling the lid off of the ice cream. 

 

“I don't know where to begin,” he mumbled, digging in and extracting a huge bite.

 

“Tell me you didn't break up,” Connie suggested, picking her own more dainty bite of ice cream out of the container.

 

Blaine rolled his eyes. “Of course we didn't break up, Constance. We would have to be dating in order to break up, and Kurt is not interested in dating.” Savagely, he dug out another oversized bite and shoveled it into his mouth, sinking down into the sofa and sulking. 

 

“Ah.” Connie tapped her spoon on her lower lip. “That would actually be a _great_ place to start, Blaine. I thought you two _were_ dating.”

 

“Me too! Or at least I thought we were getting there,” he informed her around more ice cream. His sister raised her eyebrow at him, letting him know exactly what she thought of his lack of manners. Guiltily, he swallowed his ice cream down before going on. “We went out to dinner tonight and he kind of wigged out on me. Because it was kind of a date-like situation and he feels too guilty about spending time with me to date.”

 

She winced. “Ouch.” 

 

“Yeah, well, kind of? I don't know.” Running a hand through his hair, Blaine sighed. “I get where he's coming from, he's got a lot on his plate. He's just so...I don't know, contradictory! Oh, Blaine, I want to kiss you, I don't have time to date you, I really want to spend time with you, I feel so guilty about my dad.” He stuck his spoon into the ice cream so he could cover his face with both hands and groan. “I am so _confused_ , Connie.”

 

She held the ice cream out to him until he'd stuffed two more bites into his mouth. “Okay, little brother. I'm going to impart upon you the wisdom I have learned in all my years of dating. You ready for this?” At his nod, she patted him on the head. “Boys are confusing, Blaine. They just are. Period.” 

 

“Oh, thanks, Constance. Thanks a lot.” Now he felt even more sulky. “That is super helpful.”

 

“I said it was wisdom. Not that it was helpful.” They passed the carton back and forth, eating in silence for a while. “Look, kid. Here's the God's honest truth. Dating is confusing, more so when neither of you have really dated before and a lot of crap is going on.”

 

“Great. Fantastic. I'm doomed.” He slumped over into her shoulder. Connie just tsk'ed and nudged at him to sit back up.

 

“Hey. Listen.” Propping her feet up on the coffee table, his sister began to talk seriously, gesturing with the ice cream and her spoon to punctuate her points. “You guys are young, you're gay, you're new at dating. I cannot help you on the gay front except to tell you the one thing I know for sure about teenage boys, which I have done.” She nudged at his arm. “You are now finding out for yourself that shit happens. And at the worst times, too. But little brother, you have survived worse than a boy who wants to kiss you but is too scared to date you. You have survived bullies, you fought our parents for the right to spend your senior year with your friends, and your very best friend is still around despite her best efforts to off herself.”

 

Blaine frowned. “Yeah...” 

 

“It's not perfect, obviously, but what you have with Kurt is still pretty good.” Taking his spoon from him, Connie scooped up a bite of ice cream and popped it into his mouth. “It's a good reward for everything you've been through. And I bet you're a great reward for him after all the rough stuff in his life. Just chill and enjoy each other in the best way you two crazy kids can.” Her voice softened. “You don't have a lot of time left, Blaine. Getting too serious probably isn't a good idea anyway.”

 

He felt his mouth lift in a half-smile. “He did kind of say that.” 

 

“And we all know that Kurt Hummel isn't dumb.” She ruffled his hair. “Just enjoy each other, Blaine. Don't freak out so much. That's not the Blaine Anderson I grew up with.”

 

“I can only try. No promises.” He dropped his spoon back into the half empty container, feeling a little better already. Blaine already knew he was lucky to have the friends and family that he did; their support since his thing with Kurt had started only cemented it and made him feel even more grateful to have it. “I'm getting a lot of good advice from a lot of unexpected sources lately. It's nice.”

 

Connie waggled her eyebrows playfully. “Yeah, but did your other sources of good advice come equipped with ice cream and the coincidental foresight to rent 'Spaceballs' from the video store?” 

 

He threw his head back and laughed, the last vestiges of confusion and hurt draining away. “Constance Jeanette Anderson, you are basically the most awesome big sister ever.” Blaine leaned over and wrapped his arms around her waist. “I don't thank you enough for everything.” 

 

She returned his hug, squeezing tight. “You don't have to. You've been a godsend since you came back and you were a pretty decent kid brother before that. I am happy to comfort you when dates don't go as well as you like. It's what big sisters are for.” 

 

“I don't deserve you.” Blaine sighed into her shoulder. “One favor, though?”

 

“Anything for you.”

 

“Please, quit hugging me.” He heard his voice growing more high pitched and strangled by the second. “The ice cream in your hand is _really freakin' cold_.”

 

 

 


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kurt knows he messed up. Now he just has to work out how to fix things.

“ _Love me, love me, say that you love me..._ ”

 

Kurt grinned at Blaine's singing and passed him a ratchet wrench, joining in. “ _Fool me, fool me, go on and fool me._ ” Hopping down off of his perch behind the skate shop counter, he shimmied his shoulders and made Blaine throw back his head, roaring with laughter. “ _Love me, love me, pretend that you need me..._ ”

 

“ _I can't care about anything but you,_ ” Blaine finished, dropping the wrench and grabbing Kurt up to whirl him around the shop floor. They laughed helplessly together as they danced through the end of the song, caught up in the moment.

 

Blaine seized Kurt's face gently in his hands and kissed him sweetly, lips soft and warm on his. Melting into the kiss, Kurt completely forgot his surroundings until a sharp cough jolted them both back to reality.

 

“You two,” drawled Sugar Motta, the skate shop owner's daughter and Blaine's reluctant trainee, “are so cute, it's gross.” She snapped her gum obnoxiously and raised her eyebrows at them from where she sat behind one of the two shop cash registers. “You're gonna give me, like, diabetes or something.”

 

Blaine snatched his hands away from Kurt's waist, then, hurrying back over to his work area and not looking at either one of them. Frustrated, Kurt couldn't help but heave a sigh.

 

It had been like this for two weeks, ever since that disastrous night at Breadstix. They'd laugh, they'd joke, they'd start to get close – and Blaine would pull back like he'd been scalded. Or as if he thought Kurt would break. It had actually taken an impressive series of delicate negotiations before they could even get to this point, hanging out together outside of driving lessons in a manner that would accommodate Kurt's admittedly neurotic guilt without making Blaine feel like an encumbrance or nuisance.

 

It generally worked. The agreement was that they would be together either for driving lessons or accompanying each other at their respective places of employment. They could – and did, with enthusiasm – make out, but there was to be absolutely no coupley sort of activity apart from that. They were not dating and would not go out on dates.

 

On paper, it was a good plan, but plans laid on paper never took hormones and emotions into account. And after two weeks of this, despite the fact that it was his idea, Kurt was miserable. It didn't take a genius to deduce that Blaine was, too. They just kept slipping up, couldn't help but want to be near each other, couldn't help but miss each other. When Blaine wasn't around, Kurt would find himself reading or watching something on the television, and he'd turn to share it with Blaine – who wasn't there.

 

He found himself thinking back to the night they'd spent kissing and sleeping next to each other while his father was hospitalized, and he missed it, ached for it. It had felt so entirely natural and _right_. Damn his stupid fears and worries and guilt for getting in the way of that. For dimming the light in Blaine's eyes that Kurt had tried so hard not to erase. They'd been doing really well...and Kurt had fucked it up well and entirely because he was a neurotic mess.

 

Kurt watched Blaine working on a skateboard deck and sighed, missing the ease that they'd felt around each other such a short time ago. He didn't like that Blaine was now questioning him almost every time they touched - “Is this okay? Are you all right with this?” It made kissing feel like an interview.

 

Worse, Blaine was always the first to pull away now, his natural enthusiasm and abandon – what had made Kurt like him so well in the first place – was restrained, subdued, unnatural. It wasn't right at all. Kurt sighed heavily. There had to be a way to fix this. It was obviously going to have to involve Kurt chilling the hell out. He had no idea where to begin.

 

 _Two steps forward, eight steps back_ , he thought unhappily, absorbed in watching Blaine cutting decks down to size, filling the store with dust and noise as he worked.

 

“'Ey. Hummel.”

 

Kurt jumped at the sound of Sugar's nasal whine at his elbow. He hadn't heard her walk up behind him. “Yes, Sugar?”

 

She indicated Blaine with a jerk of her sharp little chin. “What's up with you two?”

 

“Um...nothing?” Kurt tried to recall the last time he'd spoken to Sugar. Fifth grade was the latest memory he could dredge up. Certainly not recent enough for her to be nosing into his personal life. 

 

Clearly, that was not a consideration to her. “Uh huh,” she replied, unconvinced. “You don't want to tell me, whatever, fine. But I can't take a whole lot more of Mr. Grumpypants over there. It's freakin' me out.”

 

“So?” He arched an eyebrow and fixed her with his best cool stare. When she refused to back down, he huffed, a little disconcerted. She had to be the only person in the world upon whom his bitchface didn't work.

 

“So...” she mocked, drawing the word out into an impossible number of syllables. “You better fix it. Quick. I gotta work with him the rest of the summer, and I am not doing it if he's going to be all twitchy and sad. I don't care if Daddy does think I need to learn responsibility or whatever. That hole in the garage wall was not my fault, and I don't do sad.”

 

Kurt thought about asking about the garage wall, but discarded the idea. It seemed like it had the potential to be a very long story, and he    
_did_ actually want to get on with fixing things with Blaine. And as little help as Sugar was likely to be, she was his best bet for advice – he wasn't about to ask either his father or Rachel for help. “All right. Say that I did mess up. What would your boyfriend do if he'd made a mistake?”

 

“Flowers,” Sugar replied promptly, leaning against a rack of helmets. She twirled a a lock of glitter streaked brown hair in her fingers. “Or jewelry. Or chocolate, like, nice chocolate. Godiva or whatever.”

 

They both looked over at Blaine, whose tongue was poking out as he concentrated on drilling holes in his freshly trimmed decks. His No Fear shirt and baggy jeans were streaked with sawdust and grease, a clump of unruly curls dipped over his protective goggles, and the only jewelry he wore was a hemp twine cuff that Jeff had brought back from his California vacation. “Not really the type,” Kurt sighed.

 

Sugar nodded in agreement. “Not so much.” She tilted her head and examined Blaine for a moment before continuing. “So okay. So you get something special. Like something that means something to both of you, maybe.”

 

A frown creased Kurt's brow as he tapped his fingers on his cheek, thinking. “I don't know what would mean a lot to both of us. I guess I could give him something that means a lot to  _me_ , personally? But what?” He leaned down and picked up the satchel at his feet. “I don't really have anything. My car, but I can't even really drive it yet and I think my dad would object.”

 

“I really doubt you screwed up like, car-level screwing up, Hummel.” Sugar winked as she snapped her gum. “Just something nice and meaningful or some shit.”

 

“I have this pen...” Kurt pulled a Montblanc pen case out of his bag and surveyed it dubiously. “It's really nice. Dad gave it to me after I won the Ohio State Debate Competition last year. It means a lot to me.”

 

Sugar's face scrunched up into a patronizing smile. “Yeah, okay, I meant something that was less lame? I mean, it's a nice pen, but what, you want him to write you love letters or something? This is Ohio and the year is 1998, hello.”

 

He sighed. “You do have a point. A tactless, unsentimental point, but a point nonetheless.” Tucking the case away, he frowned again, completely stumped. “I really do not have any ideas.”

 

“Well, you better come up with one pretty fast, or I'm gonna have to call people on you. I know people. Don't make me call people” But her tone was almost affectionate as she patted his knee and raised her voice to shout across the shop. “Hey! Anderson! Closing time! I'm gonna sweep up your mess and split like a banana.”

 

Blaine looked over at them and nodded. “Okay, Sugar. Don't forget to count out your drawer, too.” He hung up his goggles and stacked his prepared decks neatly under the counter. “Kurt? Do you want to drive around tonight?”

 

Regretfully, Kurt had to decline. “I'm sorry, Blaine. Dad has an early doctor's appointment. I need to go straight home.”

 

“No big. I'll drop you off after we close up, then.” Wandering over to the shop door, Blaine flipped the sign to “Closed” and locked up. “I just need to count out.”

 

Kurt tagged along behind Blaine as the other boy retrieved his cash register drawer and took it to the back office. He wasn't sure what to say or do. Once again he cursed the fact that all of his confidence on stage or behind a debate podium was of no use in the real world. All that time cultivating a persona and working towards his future, what good was it if he completely stunk at interacting with people? How annoying.

 

“I'm free the night after tomorrow,” he offered, leaning in the office doorway. “We can maybe have a lesson then?”

 

Blaine punched some numbers into the adding machine on the desk before looking up to flash Kurt a quick smile. “Great. Yeah, that's fantastic. Actually, let's make it a long drive. You've gotten really good, I think we can make it the last trip we take in my car before we switch to yours. Think of somewhere we can go, okay?” He went back to his counting, muttering under his breath as he added up the night's take.

 

 _A long drive, you say_ , Kurt mused, feeling a seed of an idea beginning to germinate. Trapped in the car together for hours, nothing to do but talk and listen to the radio? And perhaps to go somewhere in order to talk privately? Yes. Absolutely. The car was where they were most at ease nowadays. The car would be the ideal place to try and fix the hash Kurt had made of their friendship...relationship...whatever it was. He just had to figure out their destination...and what, exactly, to say and do.

 

“There. Done.” Blaine zipped the day's takings into a deposit bag and stowed his cash drawer into the safe. “I just need Sugar to bring me her count and I'll be ready to go.” Running a hand through his hair, he looked down and seemed to realize for the first time how dirty his shirt had gotten as he worked. “Oh, gross. Mind if I go change shirts before we leave?”

 

Kurt shrugged. “Not at all.”

 

“Great.” Blaine smiled again and tugged a fresh t-shirt out of his backpack, pushing up to his feet. “I'll be right back.” He made a beeline for the tiny bathroom adjacent to the office, stripping his dirty shirt off just as he disappeared through the doorway.

 

Kurt was frozen where he stood, stunned by the glimpse he'd caught of smooth, tanned back, the clean curved line of spine, a pair of dimples flanking it just where it disappeared into the low slung jeans, and bare arms, arms,  _arms_ , dear God in heaven those  _arms_ . He was acutely aware of a sudden and violent departure of blood from his brain for points south and regretted, for the first time, choosing a rather snug pair of jeans to wear that day. 

 

Especially when a tap on his shoulder alerted him to Sugar's presence. When he turned around, she was grinning broadly, and her smile only got bigger when she glanced down at his groin area. “So yeah, you want to fix things ASAP,” she informed him, dropping her cash drawer onto the desk and flopping into the chair that Blaine had just vacated. “I mean, it looks like you so have incentive now, but I'll tell ya that if you don't, my cousin Anthony'll be  _totally_ willing to pick up your slack because wow, that is some hot stuff you don't have your hands on, you know?”

 

Oh, yes. Kurt was fairly aware.

 

* * *

Blaine was trying. He really was. It was the torment of his life to keep his hands off of Kurt, to not absently grab at his hand or shoulder in excitement, to keep physical contact strictly platonic unless they were in the car and Kurt initiated it.

 

Maybe he was going overboard with this whole 'not dating' thing. Okay. No. There was no maybe about it, he absolutely was going overboard. But Blaine would be damned if he was going to be the cause of Kurt getting spooked again. So, no touching, except within the confines of their strictly negotiated boundaries.

 

It was just that Kurt was making it remarkably difficult for him to  _do_ this when he insisted on showing up for their driving lesson in a snug, long sleeved heather gray t-shirt and equally snug jeans that molded to his backside like they'd been painted on. Blaine wasn't entirely sure how Kurt was even able to walk in the things. And then there was his  _smell_ , a mouthwatering combination of Armani and the leather of his black boots and whatever expensive skin cream Kurt used. All of it made Blaine want to lunge across the bench seat and devour him whole.

 

But no. This was not an option. And that was  _massively_ unfair, Blaine seethed as he buckled his seat belt, barely responding to Kurt's cheery chatter. He didn't even pay attention to where they were going, answering questions with short, surly answers and shrugs. Yes, he was being rude. No, he didn't quite care much at the moment, he was too irritated with the unfairness of life.

 

Kurt eventually gave up and lapsed into silence, leaving the mixtape he'd made to be the only sound accompanying their drive. Blaine crossed his arms and slumped back into his seat, watching the Ohio landscape roll by. After a time, he sneaked a glance at Kurt. The other boy was seemingly focused on his driving, but was gnawing lightly at his lower lip, eyes big and sad and thoughtful.

 

Damn it. Also unfair. Now Blaine felt terrible  _and_ Kurt was stupidly gorgeous even when he was upset. This could not go on. With a sigh, he untangled his arms and sat up. “Kurt, I -”

 

“Blaine -”

 

They broke off, laughing in embarrassment. The tension in the car thinned, but didn't dissipate. Still, that was an improvement. “You first,” Kurt offered.

 

“No. You, please,” Blaine urged. “Please.”

 

Kurt took a deep breath and nodded, keeping his eyes focused straight ahead on the road. “Okay. I'm sorry. I freaked out and...that freaked you out...and I know you know why I panicked, I know you understand it, but...I miss how we were. I know you're trying to be polite and considerate and not freak me out, but I can't take it anymore.”

 

Blaine cringed. “Oh, God, Kurt, I'm sorry. I've been a complete jerk.”

 

“What?” Kurt risked a quick glance over, his brow furrowed in confusion. “No, you haven't.”

 

“Yes, in my head, I've been a total jerk,” Blaine argued, dropping his head into his palm. “I've been so annoyed and resentful because you look _incredible_ tonight and I just want to hold you and be like we were, I've probably been a complete pill for the last couple of weeks, actually,” he realized, horrified. “Oh, my God. Kurt, no. Apology not accepted, I won't take it. You don't have any need to apologize just to placate me. It's totally your right to put the brakes on. I have no call to be an idiot.”

 

“You're not an idiot.” Kurt's voice was genuinely amazed. “And you haven't been a _jerk_ , my God, Blaine. You've been fantastic. You've been – damn it, I cannot have this conversation while I'm driving. I thought I could but...give me ten minutes.” He glanced around, getting his bearings. “It's a good thing we're close to where I wanted us to go anyway.”

 

“Where _are_ we going?” Blaine checked out the window, not recognizing anything. “Did you take us to Michigan?”

 

“Almost.” Kurt seemed to be consulting a mental map as he steered them through the streets of what Blaine was coming to realize was Toledo. “We used to come here when I was...a-ha.” He made a few more turns and suddenly, Lake Erie stretched out before them, still and dark blue in the moonlight. “We used to camp here, up till last summer when I got so busy with school,” he said, no little satisfaction coloring his voice. “It's quiet, no one bothers you, Dad says the fishing is good in the morning. I wouldn't know. Fish, prolonged exposure to sunlight, yuck.” He shuddered. “Anyway, I thought this would be a good place to come to.”

 

Blaine looked around. “Are we...” His throat and tongue went dry as his palms began to sweat. He hoped Kurt didn't notice as he wiped them down the legs of his shorts. “Are we camping? You and me?”

 

“No. But it's a nice private place for a long talk.” Kurt parked the car carefully and turned to Blaine. “Blaine, I -”

 

“Parking brake!” Reaching down, Blaine pulled the brake and stopped his station wagon from continuing a slow roll into the Great Lakes. “Sorry.”

 

Kurt had his hand over his heart. “God, I'm a mess. Blaine...” He scooted over the seat and grabbed Blaine's hands, and suddenly Blaine was extremely grateful he'd dried them off. “You have been so incredible these last two weeks, I can't even deal with it. You're working so hard to accommodate me being completely neurotic, it's the most charming thing I've ever seen. And it is driving me absolutely crazy.”

 

“Kurt -” Blaine felt panic rising in his throat. “I don't know what you want from me. Are we...are we splitting up? _Can_ we split up? We're not dating. What are we doing? Did we have to drive all the way out to Toledo so you could tell me you don't want to see me anymore?”

 

“Will you stop jumping to conclusions?” Kurt's smile was fond as he placed his hand over Blaine's mouth to stop his babbling. “No. I'm not going to tell you I don't want to see you anymore. I'm going to tell you I never want to stop seeing you.” He took a few moments to close his eyes and breathe deeply. When his dark lashes swept up, his eyes were clearer and more open than Blaine had ever seen. “I've been thinking hard these last couple of days. And I concluded that my neuroses can take a flying leap. Yes, my father is sick. Yes, I'm leaving the country. And no, I have no idea how we'll deal with those things, but Blaine, I cannot go one more second without making things right between us.”

 

Blaine felt as though he'd been smacked upside the head. Nothing was making sense. “Kurt, I don't...I don't understand. What changed?”

 

“You did.” Without warning, Kurt slipped forward, twining his arms around Blaine's neck and whispering warm into his ear. “You went from being confident and sexy to being as worried and neurotic as I am, and it was all my fault. I'm not...” Blaine felt him swallow and sigh. “I'm not good at this dating thing. I'm _no_ good at it, I've never done it before. I panicked, I screwed up, and I made you act like someone you're not – you've been bending over backwards to keep me happy just so we can spend a few hours together not being comfortable with each other. That's not right, Blaine. And I'm sorry.”

 

“Whoa, whoa, Kurt.” Blaine nudged Kurt up to sitting and took his beautiful, worried face between his two hands. “Stop it, okay? I don't want you to change, either, I don't want you to pretend you're okay just to make me happy. It works both ways.”

 

“I know. And I'm not.” The serenity in Kurt's eyes was sincere, so real that it made Blaine's heart twist. “I'm not pretending. I'm really okay, Blaine. Or I will be once things go back to the...amazing, _right_ way they were before I went all crazy on you. It's not going to be easy, I know that.” A smile that was heartbreaking in its sweetness curled his lips up and Blaine melted, utterly and completely. “It's probably the most insane decision I've made in my life. I'm so busy, it's so stressful, I don't care. Spending time with you was the best thing in my life until two weeks ago. Knowing you...” Kurt took another deep breath and leaned forward to kiss Blaine long and slow and sweet as honey. When he finally spoke again, his breath was hot on Blaine's neck. “Knowing you has changed everything I thought I knew about the world. I won't give that up. And I won't have you changing for me.”

 

He was drowning. Or dreaming. Something. This was so overwhelming, it couldn't be real. Blaine struggled to gather his thoughts. “Kurt...you can't be jerking me around. You can't go back and forth on this anymore, not when you say things like that. You have to mean this. I think if you pull away again, after this, it'll destroy me. I couldn't take it.”

 

Kurt slipped sinuously up to his knees and pushed Blaine back so that he could straddle his lap. “I won't,” he assured Blaine breathlessly just before he leaned down to pull the lever that dropped the seat to lay flat. His mouth skimmed Blaine's throat and jaw, a tongue tip darting out here and there to scrape over his five o'clock stubble. “I won't, I swear. I mean everything I've said, Blaine, all of it.”

 

Blaine's hands fisted in the soft fabric of Kurt's t-shirt, pulling it even tighter. “Oh, God, Kurt,” he choked out, each word sticking in his through as his senses whirled. Thought and sense were trickling away in a slow drip that became a waterfall as Kurt rolled his hips forward to press his pelvis down into Blaine's lap, the first time they'd ever allowed things to progress this closely below the waist. “I can't...I can't think...when you do that...what...why...”

 

Kurt's hands were cupping his face now as he sucked at Blaine's lower lip, the technique they'd perfected over the last weeks combining with the new, slightly tentative action of his hips to wreak total havoc on Blaine's brain once and for all. “I want to...there's things I want,” he breathed, biting down on Blaine's lip and running his tongue across it once, twice, releasing it before he dove back into a burning kiss, his tongue licking in and around the softness of Blaine's mouth, pulling again at his lower lip, fingers digging into his scalp to send signals of pleasure-pain-ecstasy rocketing through Blaine's body.

 

All he could do was grip at Kurt's shirt and hips helplessly, as if holding on for a wild ride. “What are we doing?” Blaine asked when Kurt pulled back for air, eyes burning dark blue in the moonlight that slanted in through the car windows. He didn't understand how the pursued had become the pursuer, didn't understand the light of desire in the other boy's eyes, had no earthly idea at all how things had changed from even just the start of the evening, let alone two weeks ago. “We don't...” He pushed his hands against Kurt's chest, pushing him back slightly just as he was coming in for another molten kiss. “We don't have to do this, you don't have to prove a point.”

 

“I'm not proving a point, Blaine,” Kurt sighed, somewhat testily. “Or if I am, it's that I want to be with you.”

 

Blaine had no idea if he was excited or terrified. “How far are you trying to go to prove that point?”

 

Kurt swept his hands away, gently, and leaned down again. “Why don't we adjourn to the back seat and I'll show you?”

 

He felt his eyes go wide. “Kurt, are you...”

 

All of a sudden, the sexy, predatory young man straddling his hips seemed to deflate, his smile disappearing as his eyes grew sad and wary again. “Don't you...Blaine, I thought you might...I want...is this not something you want?”

 

For all that Blaine felt terrible that Kurt was abruptly and obviously distressed, he felt more comfortable dealing with the Kurt that he knew rather than what had felt like a barely leashed tiger. “Kurt, yes, of course I do,” he replied, catching the other boy's hands in his. “You have no idea at    
_all_   
how much...but I don't want this to be something you offer because you think you need to make something up to me...and to be honest, you're coming on a little strong,” Blaine confessed, feeling his cheeks burn.

 

“Oh.” Kurt's cheeks had brightened as well with the admission. “I just...I've been reading GQ for the last couple of days since I decided I wanted to do this. And Cosmo, Sugar made me read her Cosmo for this month. I thought it might help.”

 

Blaine pressed his lips together.  _Do not laugh do not laugh do not laugh..._ He didn't speak again until he was sure he had himself under control. “I think,” he began carefully, “that maybe you can leave out the magazine tips for now because...kind of scary.” He smiled to see the tension and a bit of worry melt out of Kurt's shoulders. “But I meant it when I said I don't want you...like...wanting to do this just because you stressed me out a little.”

 

“I'm not.” Kurt's voice was firm again, and his back stiffened in pride. “I wouldn't. I'm doing this because I actually, really, very much want to be with you. Like this, I mean, in this way. It feels right, but I am...actually terrified, Blaine. Like I'm always terrified when I'm embarking on new things with you, that's all. But I want it, I want all the new things with you. No matter how difficult it is now or in the future, I want it. With you.”

 

Blaine's breath caught in his chest as he brought his hands back to Kurt's hips. Despite a slight tremor in his voice, Kurt's eyes were steady as he gazed at Blaine, waiting for his answer. It was true then, this was something he really, actually, truly wanted. Blaine felt his mouth spreading out into a smile just before he grabbed Kurt's chin and brought him close for a kiss. “I want it too,” he breathed, bracing his hands on either side of himself and pushing the two of them back up over the back of the reclined seat, making Kurt laugh as he grabbed at Blaine's waist to keep from tipping over. In a jumble of limbs and awkwardness, they made it to the back seat, shifting seats up and down, pulling the blanket from the hatch in the back to cuddle under.

 

“Will you let me show you?” Blaine asked when they were situated, skimming his fingers over Kurt's t-shirt where it covered his stomach. “Let me show you how I really, really appreciate you...all of you?”

 

“Will you let me see yours?” Kurt countered, tugging at the hem of Blaine's shirt. “I want to...”

 

And then, for a while, there was no need for words as they slowly, tantalizingly began peeling each other's clothing off, the soft sounds of fabric brushing the car floor interrupted by long, wet kisses pressed to lips and necks. Hands explored newly bared bodies, tentatively at first, then more confidently, palms cupping and stroking against the smoothness of muscle, the warmth of skin.

 

When Blaine let his hand drift to the waistband of Kurt's dark blue briefs, they both shuddered. He let his finger dip below the elastic, hoping Kurt couldn't feel his trembling as he skimmed lightly over the skin there. “Is it okay? If I...”

 

A deep breath. “Yes, please,” Kurt answered, eyes wide and locked on Blaine's. Neither of them broke eye contact as Blaine slipped his hand under the waistband, taking Kurt in hand and simply holding him as the two of them adjusted to the enormity of what they were doing. This was something they couldn't go back from. Everything was changed, different, from this moment out.

 

Slowly, with care, Blaine began to move his hand to stroke the warm heft of Kurt's erection. He'd never touched anyone but himself like this before. He knew what he liked – would Kurt like it too, though? Or should he experiment until it sounded like Kurt was enjoying it? Maybe just continue with the slowness, he decided. He liked the way Kurt felt in his hand, and judging by the way Kurt was licking his own lips, his breathing gone unsteady, Kurt liked this, too.

 

He moved close to catch Kurt's lips with his, keeping up the gentle pumping motion of his hand as they kissed. Light, broken whimpers fluttered out of Kurt's throat as he worked, making Blaine's own arousal spiral higher and tighter. He pressed against Kurt's thigh, shifting his hips so that the ache in his groin could achieve some small relief. When Kurt's hand found him and encircled the head of his cock with his fingers, Blaine couldn't keep back a groan. “Kurt, no,” he croaked, even as he mentally kicked himself for it. “Please, let me...you. Don't...too distracting.”

 

“But I want...I want to touch you,” Kurt whispered just before nipping at the arch of Blaine's neck. “Please?”

 

Blaine was hard-pressed to refuse Kurt anything, especially given that Kurt quite literally had him firmly in hand and all of his higher function had fled the scene. But he  _was_ being distracted from what he wanted to do, which was essentially to pay tribute to Kurt's body. It was there, all pale skin and strong arms, an amazingly well defined chest – when did Kurt have time to work out? Or was he unfairly, marvelously, naturally blessed? - nimble fingers and firm thighs. Blaine sorely regretted that human beings were so inefficiently built. He wanted to touch, kiss, and stroke everything all at once. 

 

Reluctantly, he pulled himself up and away, out of Kurt's reach. Kneeling on the seat, Blaine leaned down, propping himself up with his hands resting on either side of Kurt's head. “Don't touch,” he murmured, pleading in his voice. “I'll let you, I swear, I won't stop you, but I want to do this first.” He lowered himself down over Kurt's body, pressing skin to skin and sliding his hands down the other boy's arms. Without waiting for Kurt's answer, he began to mouth at his jaw, feeling the light stubble that could hardly be seen in the moonlight, thrilling at the scrape of it across his tongue. In contrast, when he moved to Kurt's throat, the skin was soft, slightly slick with a fine sheen of perspiration from the summer warmth and the strain of their slow exertions.

 

Blaine made his way down Kurt's body, shoving the blanket aside as he went. He was compelled to try to leave no inch untouched or unkissed, his fingers brushing wherever his mouth wasn't occupied. Again, when he reached the waistband of Kurt's briefs, he paused. “Can I take them off?” he asked, tugging gently, feigning a confidence that his breathy voice betrayed immediately. 

 

Their eyes met, gazes charged with anticipation and nerves. Kurt nodded hesitantly, his cheeks coloring and the blush spreading down into his chest. “Do it,” he replied, lifting his hips up off of the seat. His fists were curled so tight the knuckles were white, but his eyes had gone hazy and dark again with his need, and Blaine didn't wait for further encouragement.

 

The briefs slipped down Kurt's legs – muscular thigh to strong, lightly furred calf to long boned feet – and off, falling to the floor with no more sound than a feather on grass. He seemed to blush even harder at being so exposed to Blaine's view, but made no move to cover himself, his erection resting stiff and rosy against the fair skin of his abdomen. 

 

Blaine felt his jaw work as his mouth dried out, faced with the utterly hot sight of a beautiful young man reclining naked in front of him, something he'd heretofore only seen in magazines and somehow had never quite realized would be a treat he'd get to enjoy one day. Sex, previously, he'd thought of rather abstractly when he allowed himself to really dwell on it at all. With reality gloriously nude and willing in front of him, his mind was just about blown.

 

Which reminded him of what he was doing down here in the first place.

 

He had no real idea what he was doing, so it was with hesitation that he bent down and took Kurt into his mouth, closing his eyes as the intimacy, the enormity of what he was doing hit him.  _So many firsts_ , he thought, and it seemed both relevant and irrelevant all at once. A part of him wanted to work out why it seemed that way, but a sudden stutter of inhaled breath from Kurt as Blaine's tongue absently traced the lines of the shaft in his mouth scattered his thoughts like confetti stars.

 

Blaine moved slowly, exploring this experience and sensation with lips, tongue, and very lightly, only occasionally, teeth. When he could, he'd glance up at Kurt, watching his fingers flexing or his eyelashes fluttering, and knowing that he was the cause made him squirm and work harder, licking and sucking with an urgency that increased as the shaky moans over his head grew louder.

 

There was no warning before a hand shot down and clutched at a fistful of his curls, pulling tight as Kurt's hips arched up, the thighs Blaine's hands gripped stiffening with abruptly flexed muscle. A muffled “Blaine -!” was the only indicator that he had about ten seconds to decide if he was going to pull off or ride it out.

 

Blaine chose to ride it out, shifting his hands to hold hard to Kurt's hips as the other boy bucked and cursed beneath him. He swallowed down every bit of Kurt's orgasm, in every possible conceivable physical and mental way. The moans, the sensation of his hair being pulled and released over and over again, the heat of the come in his mouth and the skin under his palms. 

 

He wanted to remember every moment of this for the rest of his life.

 

It surprised him when Kurt grabbed at his shoulders, dragging him up with a shocking strength until they were face to face. He had only a moment to wonder at it before Kurt's hands were behind his head, pulling him in for a kiss that both pleaded and plundered. Hips thrust together, their lower bodies pressed tight and rubbing hard until Blaine had no idea where Kurt ended and he began, they were so close. Bizarrely, he found himself wondering if Kurt tasted himself on Blaine's tongue, what he thought of it, was it good/bad/indifferent/terrible/amazing? 

 

He, too, was close, in a different way, wound up tight from pleasuring Kurt. Too close. When one strong, but gentle and soft hand slipped down between them, under his boxes and closed around Blaine's cock, it took only a few firm tugs for him to spill a gutteral shout into Kurt's mouth, grabbing at Kurt's arms to hold himself anchored to something, anything as he came apart. Kurt's free arm wrapped tight around him even as his other hand stroked Blaine through his own climax, holding him close, letting him feel protected and safe as he came back down to earth.

 

A sense of wonder settled around them both as Kurt reached back for the shoved-away blanket, wrapping it back around them. Blaine slowly became aware of the world around him again. Music streamed softly from the cassette player, making him feel like it had been hours since he'd heard anything other than Kurt's hitching breaths and groans. Shivers began to rack his body.

 

 _And I'd give up forever to touch you, 'cause I know that you feel me somehow_

 

It felt like Blaine was having to slowly piece himself back together after the enormity of their shared experience. Like he was putting his brain back together, even while his body shook hard enough that it felt he'd fly back apart. He tried to stop shivering, not understanding why he was shaking at all. He wasn't cold.

 

Kurt noticed and pulled him more closely into his arms. “Are you cold?”

 

 _You're the closest to heaven that I've ever been and I don't want to go home right now_

 

Blaine could only shake his head, willing his uncooperative body to still. “N..no,” he whispered. Even his voice was shaking. 

 

“Are you sure? Are you all right?” Worried, Kurt began tucking the blanket in more tightly around them despite Blaine's wobbly assertion that he was fine. “You're shaking so hard. Why?”

 

 _And all I can taste is this moment, and all I can breathe is your life_

 

“Don't know,” Blaine managed, snuggling closer. He couldn't process anything of what they'd just done, how they'd gotten from confused, awkward avoidance to the closest he'd ever been to another human being in his life. All he knew is that it had been incredible, mind blowing, any number of positive adjectives that he was sure Kurt's dictionary of a brain could conjure up. If Blaine could just stop shaking, he'd want to live in this exact moment forever.

 

 _'Cause sooner or later it's over, and I don't want to miss you tonight_

 

He felt a kiss pressed to his temple, felt Kurt's strong legs tangling with his own. And still Blaine clung tight as his body began to relax, leaching out the tension and dulling the shivering. 

 

“Listen to the song,” Kurt murmured sleepily into his ear. “It's a really good song. I hated the movie when I saw it a couple of months ago but this song...I loved it. It makes me think of you...I put it on the tape for you...”

 

 _And I don't want the world to see me, 'cause I don't think that they'd understand_

 

They drifted off together to the music of Kurt's mixtape, wrapped up in each other and their thoughts. Blaine wondered what was going through Kurt's head, if he was as rattled as Blaine after all of this and just better at not showing it. Had this really been what Kurt planned from the start of the evening? 

 

He suspected yes, sort of. That Kurt had not necessarily planned it, but wanted it and had anticipated that it could be the end result if he set it up right. The thought made Blaine smile. Planning without planning. It was probably the most spontaneous Kurt could ever be. Blaine loved it.

 

 _When everything's made to be broken I just want you to know who I am..._

 

For Blaine, the last several hours had been a moment, one both exhilarating and terrifying in its enormity. He wanted to hold it cupped safe in his palm, close to his heart, beating in rhythm and burning as bright as fire until the end of time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The songs in the chapter are "[Lovefool](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bUIElvJRyNU)" by The Cardigans and "[Iris](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NdYWuo9OFAw)" by the Goo Goo Dolls. Thanks go out to everyone who is reading and enjoying this story, and extra love to those taking the time to provide feedback.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A missed curfew leads to disastrous consequences.

 

* * *

“Kurt. Kurt, wake up.”

 

“Don't wanna.” Kurt wound his arms more tightly around Blaine and nuzzled into his neck. “No.”

 

A gentle nudging and shaking of his arm grew steadily more agitated. “Come on, Kurt, we have to. We slept too long. Kurt, please, wake up.” At that point, the note of worry in Blaine's voice penetrated Kurt's pleasantly sleepy fog, and he sat up, rubbing sleep out of his eyes. Blaine immediately leaned over his lap and began digging through the pile of their clothing on the car floor. “I can hear my pager going off like crazy, but I don't know where it is.” 

 

Blinking, Kurt looked around and nearly fainted in shock at the sight outside the car windows. The sky was still a fairly dark blue, but it was lightening rapidly, and streaks of pink were beginning to show at the horizon. “Oh, my God,” he mumbled, suddenly paralyzed in worry. His father was going to _kill_ him.

 

“Yeah.” Blaine fished his jean shorts up from the floor and started going through the pockets. “God only knows how long Connie's been paging me. I told her I'd be back by one.”

 

“That's what I told my dad.” Kurt leaned down and found his t-shirt. “I am absolutely dead.”

 

Checking one last pocket on his shorts, Blaine located his pager and pulled it out, wincing at what he saw on the display. “Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he muttered, focused on the tiny digital screen. “Connie's called about ten times, your dad too.” 

 

“Fuck,” Kurt echoed, fumbling around and finally pulling his t-shirt over his head. He blushed to see the hickeys blooming purple against the pale skin of his chest and abdomen. “He's going to be so mad at me.”

 

Blaine sat up and took Kurt's face in his hands, pressing a gentle kiss to his lips. “It'll be okay,” he reassured, but it sounded more hopeful than definite. “It should be, anyway. We've been good about curfew before...” 

 

“Yeah.” He looked around for the rest of his clothing, not feeling very optimistic about his chances of being easily forgiven by his father. Then again, his father's ideas of grounding were unconventional at best, so who knew? This would be new territory for them both.

 

Spotting what he needed, Kurt extended a hand to point, feeling his cheeks going scarlet. “Can you...if you...um, my briefs. Would you hand me my briefs, please?” He could see the bright blue Calvin Kleins crumpled in the farthest corner away. 

 

“Sure.” Blaine squeezed his hand before turning to retrieve the wayward personal item. “Here you -”

 

“Unless you want to keep them,” Kurt blurted out, remembering one of the more incomprehensible tips from Sugar that she swore up and down guys loved.

 

Blaine glanced back over his shoulder, blue cotton in hand. “Seriously? You did not just.” 

 

Kurt had no idea how his cheeks were managing to go even redder, yet the increasing burn in his skin told him clearly that they absolutely were doing so. “Sorry. Sugar. Cosmo. Bad id...oh, just give me those.” He snatched his Calvins out of Blaine's hand and wriggled into them, completely flustered. 

 

“You're adorable,” was Blaine's fond reply as he slipped into his shorts and climbed into the front seat. “Listen, I'll do the driving home, okay? I know some back roads that ought to cut a little time off and...well, frankly, I'm going to speed.” He chuckled as he cranked the car on and buckled his seat belt. “Do you want me to stop somewhere on the way so you can call your dad?”

 

“Yes, please,” Kurt replied gratefully, buttoning his jeans and slithering into the passenger seat, boots in hand. “Maybe he'll get most of his anger out then. Maybe I can talk him down. It's not good for his heart for him to be angry.”

 

Blaine looked worried as he pulled out of the camping area. “I'm sorry, Kurt, I should have -” 

 

“No. This was all my idea, it's my fault,” Kurt interrupted, putting a firmness into his voice that he didn't totally feel. “You didn't know that we were going to...”

 

“Right.” They drove in silence for a few miles, both deep in thought. “I can come in with you, if you want,” Blaine offered. “Share the blame. I shouldn't have let us sleep so long, especially out in public like we were. I can't believe I even turned the car off at some point. I don't remember doing it.”

 

“No. No, Blaine, it's fine.” Kurt's hand found Blaine's on the stick shift and squeezed. “I would actually rather not have you in the line of fire. I've _seen_ my father angry, it's less attractive than Betsey Johnson's entire spring line.”

 

“I'll take your word for it.” A quick smile from Blaine twisted Kurt's heart and settled warm in the pit of his stomach. In the next instant, however, his face sobered and a slightly awkward expression crept over it as he took a deep breath. “Kurt...about last night.”

 

He pulled his hand away. “Oh, no, you hated it.” 

 

“No! No, Kurt, no.” Blaine swallowed hard and flashed Kurt another heart-twisting smile. “It was fantastic, Kurt. Amazing. _You're_ amazing. It was the most incredible experience I've ever...just, ever. In my life.” He chuckled and shook his head. “It seems weird to thank you, but...thank you. God, thank you.”

 

Kurt ducked his head and grinned out the window, squirming a little in his seat at the intimacy and affection of Blaine's words. Expressing these things openly and sweetly was so natural to Blaine, was one of the things Kurt adored and admired about him. He wished he could be even half as free...well, he'd have to make do with what he had. “You're welcome, I think,” he replied flippantly, brushing his bangs away from his forehead. Casting a teasing glance at Blaine, he had to smile at the surprised look on the other boy's face. “Well, I mean, you did all the work, I didn't really get to do anything  _I_ wanted to do to  _you_ .”

 

Blaine shook his head as if to clear it before recovering and chuckling. “I  _see_ ,” he shot back, nodding archly. “Well.  _That_ just means we'll have to do it all again, I guess.”

 

“ _Such_ a shame,” Kurt exhaled in a mock lament, secretly relieved at the dissipation of the heavy, intimate atmosphere. “But they do say practice makes perfect.”

 

“They do,” Blaine agreed, pulling onto a tiny side road. “And since we're already in trouble and taking a shortcut anyway, I'd like to propose that we pull over for a couple of minutes just for a quick refresher...”

 

* * *

Kurt stared at the front door of his home, willing himself to just open it and face the music. 

 

Funny how his hand was refusing to cooperate. 

 

Apart from their very quick (yet still remarkably dirty) makeout break and the stop to call their deeply unhappy father and sister, Kurt and Blaine had made it home in record time. Which to Kurt simply meant more time for his father to yell at him. 

 

“This is ridiculous,” he muttered to himself. Maybe Burt wouldn't even yell. He knew he was supposed to take it easy. And Blaine had a point, they'd always been very good about their curfews until this one sort of tiny slip up. So maybe it would be fine. Though the longer Kurt kept putting off going inside, the longer Burt would have to consider his reaction. And he had already had hours.

 

Best to get it over with. 

 

Steeling himself, Kurt shoved the door open and ducked through it, keeping his head down. It wasn't until he pressed his back to the door and looked up that he saw his father standing in the foyer, a look of unmistakable fury on his face. “You better have a damn good explanation, Kurt,” Burt spat out without preamble. “ _Damn_ good.”

 

Kurt swallowed down a painful lump of worry and guilt. “I'm sorry, Dad,” he whispered, pressing harder to the door. “I'm so sor -” 

 

“You're damn right you're sorry!” Burt roared, face going red as he began to pace the hallway's width. “You told me one AM! It is now five in the goddamn morning, Kurt! I'm a heart patient, don't make me sit up all night worried that my only son is lyin' dead in a ditch somewhere! Don't make Blaine's sister call all her friends at all the hospitals in the area to make sure her little brother hasn't been brought into the ER!”

 

He felt his face go white. “Oh, my God, Dad, we didn't mean -” 

 

“You wanna tell me where you two were all night?” Burt stopped pacing for a moment, scowled at his son, and resumed his repetitive journey. “Hm?”

 

It took only a moment for Kurt to decide that honesty was the best policy – largely because his tendency to blush made him a terrible liar. “Toledo,” he replied, wishing he could melt into the door at his father's incredulous scowl. 

 

“ _Toledo?_ ” Burt's face was going nearly purple as his ire built. “What the hell were you two doing in Toledo?”

 

“We went to have a talk,” Kurt whispered, fidgeting with his fingers, twining them into what felt like knots. He glanced up at his father, who was staring at him hard, clearly expecting him to elaborate. Kurt hoped his gaze was loaded with enough meaning to get the point across and keep Burt from prying. “And...well. Um.” He coughed, clearing his throat for good measure.

 

Burt's face faded from purple back to red as he figured out the significance of Kurt's delicate phrasing and expression. He stopped in his tracks, looking awkward. “Oh. Well. Uh.” He cleared his own throat. “And, uh, whose idea was that?” 

 

“Mine.” Kurt tilted his chin up and pulled his shoulders back, pride stiffening his spine. “I drove us to Lake Erie. Blaine didn't know what was going on until we were there.” He took a deep breath. “It was all me.”

 

“All of it?” Burt gestured vaguely, coughing again. “The rest of it. That was you, too?”

 

“ _Dad_.” But again, Burt fixed him with an unrelenting stare, making him heave a large sigh. “Yes, that was me, too.” Kurt almost wished his father would start yelling again. It would be less uncomfortable. Yelling, he could handle. Obliquely discussing the loss of his virginity...not so much. And he was lamenting the loss of the warm glow around the edges of his memories of the night before, stripped bare as they were in the light of his father's demands for information.

 

Burt had started pacing again, rubbing his hand over his head in his agitation. “Were ya safe?” He asked. “Not just like...I mean, did ya go to a hotel or somethin'?” 

 

This made Kurt cringe even harder. He knew they'd been deeply irresponsible. Admitting this was worse than admitting that he'd engaged in sexual activity at all. “No, once we got to the campsite, we stayed there,” he murmured, locking his gaze onto his boots. “In the car.” 

 

Once again, Burt stopped in his tracks, turning to stare at his son for a scant instant before exploding. “Are you  _nuts?_ ” he shouted, throwing his hands into the air. “Have you completely lost your damn mind?”

 

“No...yes...I didn't...” Kurt looked up, sucking his lower lip into his mouth and nibbling at it in his worry. “Dad, please, calm down. I'm sorry, I didn't think, I didn't mean to worry you.”

 

But Burt wasn't calming down, not at all. “For someone so smart, you sure can be an idiot, Kurt,” he raged, words stinging like a dozen arrow strikes to Kurt's heart. “Do you have  _any_ idea what could have happened if you two had been caught? Wrong person walks by at the wrong time, you coulda been arrested. Or killed! Did ya even stop to think about that?”

 

“We weren't, though!” Reaching out a pleading hand, Kurt tried to explain. “We weren't. It turned out okay and it won't happen again, I swear.”

 

Burt wiped a hand down his face. “You're damn right it won't happen again,” he retorted. “Your curfew is 11 PM every night until you go to London, goddamn it. On the nose. And no goin' out of town.” 

 

“I'm eighte -” Kurt began to protest, only to be cut off by his father's hand raised in a silencing gesture.

 

“And you live under my roof. As long as you do that, you will abide by my rules and you won't be stayin' out all night worryin' me half to death,” Burt snapped.

 

The next moment seemed to happen in horrible slow motion. Burt had his mouth open, ready to continue berating Kurt, but abruptly, he grabbed at his chest and looked surprised for an instant before crumpling to the floor. Kurt was a shocked second too late to fully catch his father before he hit the tiles, and nearly wrenched both shoulders out of the socket trying. 

 

“Dad?” He sniffed back the tears that suddenly stung his eyes and shook his father, willing him to open his eyes. “Dad, please. Dad, come one, wake up.”

 

But Burt didn't respond, was only barely breathing. Kurt scrambled for the phone and punched in 911. Less than an hour and one harrowing ambulance ride later, Kurt was slumped half-awake in the ER waiting room at Lima General, nodding off as a Ren and Stimpy marathon played on the TV overhead. 

 

“Kurt?” A gentle hand nudged his shoulder. “Kurt, wake up.”

 

For the second time that day, an Anderson was trying to wake him up. Kurt let out a drowsy chortle as he opened his eyes to meet Connie's worried hazel ones. “Hello, Connie,” he mumbled, shifting to sit more upright in his chair. “Everything okay?” 

 

“He's stable,” she replied, shoving a cup of coffee into his hand. “More than that, I have to let Dr. Lopez tell you.” Smoothing down her scrubs, she perched lightly in the next chair over and watched him hard until he began to drink the coffee. “You might be able to go in and sit with him for a few minutes, later on. Do you want me to call Blaine to come pick you up afterwards?”

 

Kurt paused mid-swallow to consider it. “No,” he replied finally wiping his mouth. “I mean, thank you, but no, Connie. Let him sleep, it was a long night.” 

 

“I bet,” was her dry reply, delivered with tongue firmly in cheek and making him choke again. “But he's not asleep, he's at the shop working. I'm sure he wouldn't mind coming to get you on his lunch break.”

 

He shook his head, adamant. “No. I don't want to bother him or upset him. Not now. I'll get a cab ride home and I will definitely call him later.” A thought occurred to him, and he grabbed at the t-shirt sleeve poking out from under Connie's scrub shirt. “And please, don't tell him. I'll tell him when I call later, I will. Okay?” 

 

Connie was very obviously not thrilled about it, but she nodded in agreement. “All right. I'll leave it up to you.” Cocking her head to the side, she regarded him for a long moment. “You really are a stubborn, independent little shit, aren't you?” Despite the name-calling, her tone was warm and the accompanying nudge to his shoulder teasing. He couldn't help but grin a little in return. 

 

“It's just who I am,” he replied with a light shrug. “Can't be helped.”

 

Connie let out a musical giggle. “No, it's a good thing,” she assured him. “You and my stupid little brother are perfect for each other. He's as stubborn as you are, it's great.” She nudged him again. “He  _likes_ you.”

 

Kurt rolled his eyes, sticking his tongue out at her. “You don't have to matchmake, Connie. I promise I am already head over heels for your brother.” 

 

“Good.” With a last nudge and pat to his knee, she stood up. “Here comes Dr. Lopez. I'll give you some privacy. Come get me before you go, okay? I'll call you that cab.”

 

“Okay,” he agreed nervously, eying the approaching cardiologist with trepidation, all of his fragile good humor gone as quickly as it had come.

 

“Kurt.” When he glanced over at Connie again, she was smiling. “It's going to be okay.”

 

“Okay,” he said again, all he could get out before Dr. Lopez was standing before him. Connie waved farewell and disappeared.

 

“Kurt Hummel?” At Kurt's tentative nod, the doctor smiled reassuringly and flipped open the chart he held. “Okay. So. Your father is going to be okay. He had an anxiety attack, not a heart attack.” He smiled again as Kurt sighed in relief. “Now of course, with his health history and general fragility in the cardiac arena, it was fairly painful and frightening for him, and still something of concern to us. We'd like to keep him overnight for tests, just to make sure there's no new damage to his heart.”

 

“He's okay? Really?” Kurt felt like he might fall over, he was so relieved. It felt like a huge burden had been lifted from his shoulders. “He'll actually be all right?”

 

“As long as he can keep from being too stressed, keeps to his resting regimen and his diet, and remembers to take his medication – which he admitted he forgot this morning – then I would tentatively say yes, he'll be okay,” Dr. Lopez agreed. “You can go in and see him now, but please keep it to ten minutes. You can come back tomorrow afternoon and if everything looks good, I'll discharge him.”

 

“Thank you,” Kurt breathed fervently, wringing the doctor's hand in gratitude. “Oh, God, thank you so much.”

 

“We're not out of the woods yet,” Dr. Lopez reminded him, caution in his voice. “It's just not as bad as we thought. As I said, keep it to ten minutes, please. He's in room 1102.”

 

“Yes, sir, thank you, sir,” Kurt babbled in agreement, giving the doctor's hand one last shake before taking off for the elevators. The ride to the eleventh floor seemed to take forever, and the elevator stopped at every floor. He was practically bouncing with his irritation at the end of it.

 

At last, he spilled out of the elevator car at his destination and skidded down the hallways to his father's room. What he saw when he arrived in the doorway made him gasp in shock. 

 

Burt was pale and a far cry from what Kurt was used to from his father – the robust, burly man seeming somehow shrunken in the bed. Too many machines surrounded him, were attached to him, making a cacophony of beeps that was each more shrill than the last. Kurt's eyes prickled with tears again. This was entirely his fault. 

 

“I'm not a friggin' zoo animal.”

 

Kurt's startled gaze snapped to meet his father's eyes. Burt was indeed awake, his voice rough and his eyes rimmed red and ringed purple, but he was awake. Kurt raced to the bedside chair. “Dad, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, I never meant to cause you to have an attack, I'll never stay out late again, I promise -” 

 

“Kurt, shut up a sec, will ya?” Burt mustered a weak, fond smile for his son. “It's okay. I shouldn'ta gotten so riled up.”

 

“I shouldn't have given you a reason to get angry or forget to take your medication,” Kurt corrected softly. “I was thoughtless and irresponsible.” _And selfish_ , he added, with an internal wince.

 

“Don't be so hard on yourself.” Burt sighed, reaching his hand out to pat his son's arm. “You're a good kid. Stayin' out all night is frankly somethin' most parents deal with a lot earlier. And way more often. I get off light with you, kiddo. Quit guiltin' yourself over it. It was one time.”

 

Kurt shrugged, tilting his chin up proudly. “It still won't happen again,” he vowed, squeezing his father's hand. “I've got two months left, I'm going to keep that 11 PM curfew.” 

 

“Make it midnight or I'll ground ya and you won't be allowed back in the house till 2 AM,” Burt joked, winking. “Seriously, though, Kurt. Forget it. I'll take the compromise on a midnight curfew if you promise to call me the minute you know you're gonna be late or out of town. And Jesus Christ, kid, no more parking for hanky-panky with your boyfriend where anybody might walk by and see, I don't need to get a call from the police or a hospital in the middle of the night.”

 

“He's not my...never mind. Not a problem.” Kurt shook his head, more vehemently than the assertion called for. “It won't happen again.”

 

“I don't know whether to be pleased that you're gonna keep it in your pants or worried that you're breaking up with Blaine.” Burt grinned more broadly as his son blushed and squirmed in embarrassment. “I gotta tell ya, I prefer the first choice.”

 

Kurt nodded, avoiding his father's gaze. “I know.” 

 

Before Burt could decide to chase down Kurt's line of thought, Dr. Lopez appeared in the doorway. “Kurt, time's up.” 

 

He stood up, leaning down to hug his father gingerly. “I'll be back tomorrow to pick you up. Promise to behave for the tests?” 

 

“I'll do my best.” Burt's eyes were worried as he followed his son's exit out of the room. Kurt swallowed down a spill of frantic words and thoughts as he ducked away, avoiding his father's gaze. When Dr. Lopez clapped him on the shoulder, he nearly jumped out of his skin.

 

“Come back tomorrow around two, hey?” The cardiologist's smile was friendly. “And I'll tell Santana you said hello, if you like.”

 

“Great, thanks.” Kurt nodded and stuck a smile onto his face with effort. “I'll see you tomorrow then.”

 

His father's words stuck in his mind as he made his way back to the ER to find Connie.  _...worried that you're breaking up with Blaine_ , he heard in his father's voice, circling and circling in an endless loop through Kurt's brain. He couldn't deny the thought had been nagging at the back of his mind ever since he sat in the ambulance, sirens wailing and lights flashing while he held his inter father's hand and quietly freaked out.

 

_This isn't Blaine's fault_ , Kurt's brain reminded him sternly, as he rounded the corner to the ER floor nurses' station.  _And you said you wouldn't go back and forth on him anymore._

 

“I know,” he muttered to himself, shoving his hands in his pockets and ignoring the stares of the strangers who wondered about the tall boy with the too-pretty face and rumpled clothing talking to himself. “But I said that before I completely blew off responsibility and put my father in the hospital.”

 

_He said it was okay, he doesn't want you to give up something that makes you happy_ , his brain reasoned.

 

“It would make me happier to not kill my father,” he mumbled, just as he arrived in front of Connie.

 

“Sorry, what?” She looked at him, puzzled, and pushed a clump of soft dark curls out of her eyes. “Did you say something, Kurt?”

 

He forced another bright smile onto his face. “Nope! Just ready to go home.” 

 

“Sure thing.” Connie turned and picked up the phone. “Last chance for me to talk my kid brother into being your chauffeur. He's not free, but he's easy.”

 

Kurt nearly choked on hysterical laughter. “Oh my God, thank you again, but no.” His smile was a little more genuine now, since he really liked Connie and appreciated her kindness – even her off-color humor sometimes. “Honestly, Connie, a cab will do, I've got my wallet and it's not too far.” 

 

“All right.” She flashed him a wink and a quick smile not unlike the one her brother had beamed at him just a few hours ago, and he felt his heart twist at the sight of it. Shoving his his hands into his jeans pockets, Kurt kept his gaze trained firmly on the floor while Connie ordered his cab for him. “There. All set.”

 

“Thank you. Really, thank you.” Spontaneously, he leaned over the counter and gave her a hug. “And I'll call Blaine when I get home, before I pass out.”

 

“Sounds great,” she replied, hugging him back. “Thank you, too, Kurt.”

 

“Me?” He was genuinely surprised. “Why me?”

 

“For making my brother happy. He was lonely, before you.” At his confused stare, she clarified. “He had Quinn, and he had Jeff, but his _heart_ was lonely. And, you know, he's a good kid. Don't get me wrong, he's totally in trouble for what you and he pulled last night,” and she winked again, scrunching her nose up in a smile. “But he's still a good kid, with a lot to give. People underestimate him. Our parents underestimate him. You don't, though, or at least I'm pretty sure you don't. He wouldn't want to be with you if you did.”

 

Kurt shook his head, trying to follow. “Of course I don't underestimate him. He's incredible. I'm just me, I don't do much of anything. I'm too focused, too neurotic...I'm just a brain and I look nice, those are my best features.” 

 

“More than nice, kid. Trust me. If you were straight and older and not dating my brother...” Connie sighed in mock regret. “You're more than a pretty face and a big brain, Kurt. Don't underestimate yourself, either.”

 

“I...okay.” He didn't know what to say. Connie's praise flustered him as much as Blaine's ever did, and given his train of thought at the moment, he was pretty sure he didn't deserve it.

 

“Just...thank you, Kurt. You're a good kid, and you make my brother happy. That's big in my book.” Connie glanced out of the automatic doors of the ER. “Your cab's here. Go get it before they get in trouble for parking in the ambulance bay. _Again_. I am going to have to call that company...” She turned away to do that, and Kurt took the cue to leave, slumping out the door and into the cab without really noticing the transition from standing to sitting.

 

His mind was swimming in guilt, guilt for his father, who had worried about his son and as a result was sick in the hospital. Guilt for Blaine, with whom he'd just shared an amazingly intimate experience that had led to that worry. Kurt propped his chin on his hand and leaned it on the cab's windowsill, trying to sort out his cacophonous thoughts. 

 

_ I think if you pull away again, after this, it'll destroy me. I couldn't take it. _ Blaine's voice rang in his mind, cracked and raw with fear, uncertainty, hurt. All things that he, Kurt, had put there with his thoughtless words and the neuroses he hadn't held in check.

 

He couldn't bear the thought of putting them there again, of inflicting deeper wounds on Blaine, especially now. But the thought of his father in the hospital bed, pale and linked to half a dozen machines...Kurt had caused that, too. He had hurt his father and the boy he had come to care too much about, and one of them was about to get hurt again. 

 

And Kurt knew who it would have to be. 

 

It wasn't Blaine's fault that Kurt had been thoughtless and selfish the night before. He didn't deserve to be hurt again. But to Kurt it was very clear that he himself wanted too much, that when he was with Blaine he allowed himself to be entirely wrapped up in the other boy, in his eyes and arms and heart and soul, to the exclusion of anything else that was important. 

 

Both Blaine and his father would tell him there was no choice to make, that he could have both. That he  _ should _ have both. Everyone would say that, in fact. Sugar, Quinn, Jeff, Connie, even Rachel...

 

But they weren't him. They didn't have to carry the guilt that came with having put their parent in the hospital. They didn't have to worry about how their only parent would fare once they were gone overseas for four or five years. 

 

Without Kurt, Blaine still had friends and family to support him. Without Blaine, Kurt had only his father. He couldn't risk doing anything that would cause his father to get more ill or...he pushed the thought away, burying his face in his hands just as the cab turned onto his street. This wasn't a decision he wanted to make. 

 

_ So don't make it, _ his brain and heart screamed in tandem, rebelling against his gut instinct.  _ Strike a balance. They're all right, all of them, you can have both. _

 

But Kurt couldn't see how he could chance it. He had two months left to spend with his father. As much as his heart revolted against tearing back the piece of itself that had been given to Blaine, as much as his mind and soul shrieked about breaking promises to someone who deserved only good and wonderful things, he couldn't see a way around it. 

 

_ He was lonely, before you _ , Connie's phantom voice echoed, and the words were a knife to his heart as he mindlessly paid the cabbie and stumbled up to his house door, hands shaking as he unlocked it and shoved inside. He fell to the tiled foyer with a thump, a tangle of limbs and misery and his messenger bag. It took a moment of breathing deep and willing himself not to break down before he felt in control enough to look around.

 

His eye was caught by an unstamped blue envelope on the floor by the mail slot,  _ Kurt _ inscribed simply on the front in Blaine's neat, spiky handwriting. Kurt reached a trembling hand out to pick it up. It hadn't been licked shut, the flap just tucked into the envelope, so it was an easy matter to open it and pull out the card inside.

 

Kurt read it twice, three times, unblinking and his mind nearly snapped as the words inside drove home the horrible reality of what he was about to do. He lost all of the fragile control he had on his emotions and broke down then, carefully stowing the card safely into his bag before curling up right in the middle of the entryway and weeping as if his heart would break. 

 

If he had a heart. Lately, Kurt wasn't convinced that he did. A person with a heart didn't do the things he'd done to Blaine, that he was going to do to Blaine. People with hearts didn't go back on things they swore only a handful of hours before, to a person with whom they had shared the most intimate thing two people could experience together. 

 

After a long, painful while, Kurt hiccupped and began to gather himself together, wiping his eyes and nose with the handkerchief in his bag. It took him a few tries to get on his feet, shaky as his knees were, and to stumble to his bathroom, where he could comb his hair and splash his face with cold water and get as close to calm as he could manage. 

 

When he could think straight again, when he could compartmentalize his emotions and thought himself capable of having a conversation without falling apart, Kurt picked up his bedside phone and called Blaine. “Hi...it's me. Are you busy tonight?” 


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Blaine's morning goes considerably better than Kurt's after their night together, but later in the day things take a turn for the worse.

* * *

“You're sure you don't want me to come in with you?” Blaine reached over and brushed Kurt's hair out of his eyes, unable to stop himself from grinning like an idiot. It only got worse when Kurt leaned over and touched Blaine's cheek, pulling him close for a last sweet kiss.

 

“It's fine,” Kurt murmured when they finally pulled apart. “It's better if I just go in and face the music, get it over with.” When he smiled, it trembled slightly from his nerves. “I'll be fine. The worst he'll do is ground me...and, well, I think we both know his track record with that.”

 

“We do.” Swiftly, Blaine caught Kurt's hand and kissed his palm. “Call me later, let me know?”

 

Kurt nodded. “Yes. Now go sleep.” He quirked up his mouth in a quick smile and clambered out of the car, snagging up his satchel as he went. The Volvo's door was banged shut before Blaine could remember to tell Kurt that he was working today. Oh, well.

 

He waited for Kurt to get in the house before pulling away, dreading his own trip home. Connie wasn't the grounding type, but he knew she was going to be hugely upset for worrying her. She'd been so tense on the phone, just telling him they'd talk when he got home. She was probably planning her lecture now, Blaine realized glumly. Big sisters could be the _worst_.

 

It was just after 5:30 AM when he let himself into the apartment. Connie was sitting at the breakfast bar, mug of coffee at hand and a plate of waffles in front of her. The place next to her was similarly set, lacking only his presence in the seat to complete the tableau. At her pointed nod to the other bar stool, Blaine shuffled over, a guilty flush high on his cheeks.

 

“Eat,” his sister ordered, picking up her coffee. “You can listen while you chew.”

 

“Right.” Blaine scooted up onto the stool, stuffing a bite into his mouth immediately. God, he was starving. They hadn't gone out for dinner before their drive to Toledo, and hadn't dared take the time to stop for anything on the way back. He set to demolishing his breakfast, watching his sister and waiting for the lecture.

 

He didn't have to wait long. “I know you're 18,” she began, sipping at her coffee. “And I know I'm not your legal guardian. But, I am your big sister and I did volunteer to take responsibility for your well-being while you're still living in Ohio. All I ask of you is that you keep me updated with your whereabouts, answer your pager when I call it, and stick to our agreed upon times for you to come home. So let's not pull anything like you did last night ever, ever again.”

 

Blaine chewed on another three bites of waffle and some scrambled egg, waiting for her to continue. But Connie simply continued to drink her coffee and eat her own breakfast, picking up her napkin from time to time and dabbing at her lips. Finally, he couldn't take it anymore. “What, is that it?”

 

She tilted her head up to stare at the ceiling, pretending to think. “Um...yeah. That's it.” Picking up a slice of bacon, she crunched down into it, devouring it with relish. “I did a good job on the bacon today.”

 

“Yeah, you really...wait, seriously, Connie, that can't be all.” Blaine chucked down his fork and stared at her, holding his hands out. “I'm waiting.”

 

“What? I can't ground you, and I'm pretty sure your massive guilt complex is going to keep you in line after this anyway.” She shrugged and smiled perkily, reaching over for the carafe on the counter to pour herself another mug of coffee.

 

He blinked at his sister in disbelief. “So you not only catered my lecture for breaking our agreed upon curfew, it's a slap on the wrist.”

 

“Mmm. Yes. Pretty much.” Connie nodded enthusiastically and beamed at him. All at once, she seemed to remember something. “Oh! Right. And always use condoms.”

 

Blaine buried his head in his crossed arms on the countertop. “Oh, Jesus.”

 

“Well, it's sound advice.” Cheerfully, she ruffled his hair and slid off of her stool, standing there for a moment considering him. When she spoke again, she'd sobered and had to take a deep breath to start. “Look. If you really want me to guilt you, I can tell you that yes, I was worried. Trying to imagine making a call to Mom and Dad...trying not to imagine you hurt or... I mean, I still remember what happened to you in eighth grade, Blaine. And I can't even talk about how frantic Kurt's dad was _every time he called me_ , because it just made my worry even worse. So...there you go. Yeah, last night sucked, and I didn't sleep, and now I have to go to work. Don't pull that crap again.”

 

As she vanished into her bedroom to get ready for work, Blaine scrubbed a hand down his face and sighed. Well, he'd asked for it. Connie was right – between his guilt complex and her reveal of just how scared she'd been, he'd never put a toe out of line again. Grabbing a last slice of bacon from the plate, he slid out of his chair and hit the floor. “Do you need me to take Jason to day care?” he called, shoving the bacon into his mouth while he changed his shirt and shorts.

 

“Nope.” Connie was shaking her head when she emerged, heading into the other room to wake her son up. “I got it. Why don't you take a nap before you open the shop?”

 

“Nah. I'm not tired, and I have something I want to do before I head over there.” Blaine ambled over to Jason's room and hugged his sister and sleepy nephew. “Seriously, thanks, Connie. Best sister ever. But please never mention condoms again.”

 

“As long as you use them and don't come home with anything I'm gonna laugh at you over while I treat it.” She hugged him back. “Dinner tonight?”

 

“Um, not sure.” He rumpled his hair as he thought. “Let me get back to you?”

 

Connie nodded. “Sure thing.” She hoisted a grumbling Jason over her shoulder, settling him into place as she tilted her head to gaze questioningly at her younger brother. “What are you doing that has to be done before you go to the shop?”

 

Blaine grinned. “Practicing being romantic.”

 

* * *

“Guys! Come on, shut up a second, I can't think.” Blaine tangled his hands into his hair and tossed his pen to the counter.

 

Jeff and Quinn broke up from where they were dancing and singing along with the shop's stereo. “Come on, Blaine,” Jeff protested. “You love No Doubt.”

 

“Yeah, but, thinking here.” He flapped his hand at his friends and returned to staring at the blank card in front of him. He'd spent ages picking out exactly the right card for his plan. Hallmark, he'd discovered rather distressingly, completely lacked a range of greeting cards for expressing romantic sentiment towards the boy to whom you'd just lost your virginity. In the end he'd gone with a card that was blank on the inside and had a photo of a serene, pretty lake scene on the front, which was supposed to remind Kurt of their romantic interlude at Lake Erie.

 

Blaine just had to come up with the exact right words now.

 

Sugar sidled over from the other end of the counter. “I could help, maybe,” she offered. “Like, this month's Cosmo -”

 

“I am _disturbingly_ aware of what was in this month's Cosmo,” Blaine shot back at her, shaking his head at her unrepentant grin. “ _Thanks_ for that, by the way, I always wanted my first time to start out with Kurt having to apologize for turning into a sex shark.”

 

Too late, he realized what he'd revealed as the words hung in the air of the skate shop, making Quinn, Jeff and Sugar turn to stare at him, mouths open in shock. Quinn recovered first. “Did you...Blaine. Did you do it?” 

 

He squeezed his eyes shut, feeling the blood rush to his head and setting his cheeks aflame. “Er...I.”

 

“Look at his face. He _totally_ did the deed.” Quinn's tone of smug satisfaction was unmistakable and only made him blush harder. Blaine opened his eyes and immediately glanced down at his card and pen.

 

“It's not a big deal,” he muttered, picking up the pen and twirling it in his fingers, not looking at any of them. “It was just -”

 

“Blaine, come on, of course it's a big deal.” Quinn sashayed over to the counter, hands on hips as she shook her head. “You had sex. This changes _everything_. The way you think, the way you feel, the way you look at him...ten, twenty, fifty years from now, you're going to look over at Kurt, and your brain is going to go, _I saw you naked_.”

 

The bells on the shop door jingled as Puck sauntered through the door and headed immediately for the display of Rollerblade supplies in the back of the shop. “You get you some, Anderson?” he called over his shoulder, dropping a wink as he pulled down several sets of racing wheels. “Excellent. Stellar job, my man.”

 

“Oh, fucking hell, _thanks_ , Quinn.” Blaine dropped his pen again and buried his face in his hands. 

 

“No, what, dude?” Puck brought his choices to the counter and piled them up in front of Sugar. “It's awesome. I'm down with the gay, man. You know that. Woohoo?” He held his hand up for a high five. Blaine glared and left him hanging.

 

Quinn came over to wrap her arms around his waist, resting her chin on his shoulder. “I'm sorry, Blainers. But, you know, it is actually awesome.” She glanced down at the counter. “Oh, you got him a card? What are you going to write?”

 

“I don't know. That's why I told you to be quiet.” Once again, Blaine picked up the pen, choosing this time to drum it on the counter. “It has to be exactly perfect.”

 

A hush fell over the store as he stared at the card. Sugar rang Puck up as quietly as she could, both of them whispering under their breath as they watched him surreptitiously. Jeff picked up a price tag gun and went over to the helmet display, where he assumed the precisely correct position to look like he wasn't staring at the counter while he totally stared at the counter. Quinn didn't even bother with any sort of subterfuge, hopping up onto the counter next to Blaine and staring pointedly at the card.

 

He lasted all of two minutes before he couldn't take it anymore. “Okay, all of you need to...go away. Now.” When they began to object, Blaine held up a hand until they all shut up “Sugar, go take a break. Jeff, go in the back room and sort out the new shipment of decks and trucks. Quinn, go outside and smoke. Aaaaand...yeah, Puck, go bum a cigarette off of her.”

 

“Quinn smokes Marlboro Ultra Lights,” Puck protested, only to yelp as Quinn buried a hand in his Mohawk and led him outside by it. Jeff and Sugar were silent as they slumped off to the back room, but Jeff took the opportunity to cast a reproachful glance over his shoulder before they disappeared through the door. Blaine didn't care. He let out a gusty sigh when he was finally alone, the blank white card mocking him with its emptiness.

 

Blaine could do a lot of things, he would admit if he was feeling particularly self-indulgent. He was a more than competent skater. A good uncle, he thought. A decent kid brother. He could speak enough phrases in Spanish, French and German to get by, thanks to one European summer spent with a continental rail pass and no clear agenda. In high school, he had been an above average student with a mild interest in math. He was not an idiot.

 

Romance, however, was not his strong suit.

 

Absently, he began twirling the pen again, chewing at his lower lip and ignoring the tiny Kurt voice in the back of his head telling him to quit it. Where were the right words to tell another person that you were incredibly grateful to have been chosen to share in an experience like they'd had together? And without being too sweet, too gooey – it  _had_ been epic, Blaine had felt like it was almost too much effort to keep his emotions under the surface of his skin while it was happening, he'd seen stars and yes, time had felt like it had stopped, but...it seemed like overkill to put all of that into words.

 

But there was  _so much_ blank space on the card. And he had an awful lot of feelings swirling through his mind.

 

A touch on his shoulder made him jump. Quinn. Blaine blinked at her, wondering how he'd been so lost in thought that he hadn't heard the bells on the door ringing when she came through it. “How's it going?” she asked gently, pointing her chin at the card.

 

“Um...it's not,” he confessed, propping his head on his hand. “I'm not good at being romantic.”

 

Quinn pursed her lips. “You don't know that. You've just never had to be, before.” Resting her head on his shoulder again, she thought hard enough that Blaine could almost hear it. “What are you trying to say?”

 

Sucking in a deep breath, Blaine let it all out in a big rush. “That I love him. Without saying, you know, exactly that. I don't want to say that for the first time in a card, you know?”

 

“Wow. Okay. Really?” At Blaine's nod, she let out a low whistle, tugging a strand of pink hair out of her ponytail and chewing on it. “Yeah, I can't help you. I'm better at angry lyrics than being really lovey-dovey. Wow.”

 

Blaine sighed. “Great. Thanks.”

 

“Sorry.” Her smile genuinely was sorry and a bit sad as she hugged him again. “I'm happy you're happy, though. That's something, right? Want us to give you another fifteen minutes?”

 

“Yeah.” He kept tapping the pen, wishing for the right words. “That'd be great. Hey, Quinn, when I get this done, can you drop it off at his place?”

 

“Sure. No problem.” Quinn paused, her hand on the door. “Blaine...don't overthink it. Keep it easy. Simple. Real. Don't try to bury it in fancy words. Just be you, okay? That's who he likes. Maybe loves. So be that person.” In another jingle of bells, she was back out on the sidewalk with Puck, offering her pack of cigarettes to him.

 

Blaine stared after her for a long moment, wondering how to condense everything that was so wonderfully complicated into something simple. He'd felt so much,  _too_ much for one simple card. He should be writing pages of a letter, sending it with flowers, performing extravagant gestures that s _till_ wouldn't get across all of what he felt, not even if he had a lifetime.

 

Except that didn't feel real. It felt like he'd actually be burying his real feelings under a layer of gestures and actions and things that Kurt would more than likely think were mortifyingly over the top. Quinn had it – simple, real, and honest it would have to be. If he could muster the courage to lay himself bare in a few unadorned words.

 

With one shaky breath, Blaine bent his head down and began.

 

Quinn and Puck poked their heads back into the shop when they saw him put the pen down. “Is it safe to come back in, dude?” 

 

Blaine nodded. “I think I got it.” As Quinn approached the counter, he shoved the card over to her, watching as she picked it up in her black fingernailed hand, turning it over and over but not opening it yet. Jeff and Sugar emerged from the back room when they heard the buzz of activity in the front of the shop, Jeff still carrying his clipboard and Sugar with a copy of Cosmo in her hand that made Blaine wince to see it.

 

Quinn flipped the card back over so that the pastoral lake scene was facing upward in her hands. “Can I read it?” she queried, careful green eyes firmly on Blaine, waiting for his response.

 

Breath was tight in his chest, his lungs feeling suddenly too small. “Go ahead,” Blaine croaked, gesturing limply at the card. If it sucked, maybe he had time to get another one on his lunch break and try again.

 

With one last glance at his face to be sure, Quinn opened the card and focused on the neatly printed words there, her eyes widening. “Dear Kurt,” she read aloud, voice trembling slightly. “You told me just last night that you wanted all of the new things with me, no matter how hard it would be. I hate to borrow your words to tell you how I feel about you, but I can't think of any better way to say it – you've said it all. I want to be there for you, every day, to share every new experience possible with you, to say thank you a thousand different ways for letting me be part of your life.” Her voice broke, then, forcing her to pause and take deep breaths before she could finish. “All my heart, Blaine.”

 

They all stood in silence, wide-eyed as they processed the words. Blaine nibbled on his thumbnail and watched them, nerves rattling every muscle and bone in his body as he waited. “Well?” he barked finally, startling them into action. “Did I get it right?”

 

“Dude,” was all Jeff could say, shaking his head. “Dude.”

 

Quinn looked at Sugar. “Have you ever gotten a letter like this?”

 

“I...” For once, Sugar was at a loss for words, twisting the rolled up magazine in her hands until the glossy cover tore. “I've read about it. I've had dreams where I did, you know?”

 

Puck was less sentimental, less shocked, as he leaned over the counter and raised his hand. “Get ready for greatness, Anderson.”

 

This time, Blaine returned the high-five, enthusiastic and with a big stupid grin that he didn't even care about controlling as it spread across his face.

 

* * *

As he drove to pick up Kurt, Blaine's nerves thrummed with anticipation, fingers tight but twitchy on the steering wheel. Quinn had, as promised, dropped the card off right into the mail slot, so he knew Kurt had to have gotten it. 

 

But Kurt had not made any mention of it during their brief phone call that afternoon. And Blaine understood that, he did. Burt was in the hospital, the card was pretty unimportant in the grand scheme of things. That didn't mean Blaine wasn't still  _nervous_ about it. He'd laid himself pretty bare in a few lines, his nerves were just as understandable.

 

“ _I think I'm paranoid, manipulate it,_ ” he sang along to the radio, wondering idly if the local alt-rock station was wire-tapping his car or something. This was a little too apt. “ _I think I'm paranoid and complicated..._ ” He spun the wheel to turn on to Kurt's street, smiling to see the Hummel house all lit up, looking inviting. His smile vanished in the next moment when he realized Kurt had probably turned on all of the lights to stave off the feeling of being too alone. He'd have to see if Kurt wanted him to stay over. “ _Bend me, break me, any way you need me,_ ” he sang on, turning into the driveway.

 

Kurt was out the door and slipping into the car before Blaine could turn the engine off. “Hey,” he breathed, shoving his satchel down into the footwell. “Thanks for wanting to meet up.”

 

Blaine couldn't help his surprised laugh. What a thing for Kurt to say. “Um, definitely no problem, Kurt,” he replied, putting the Volvo in park and sliding across the seat to gather the other boy up in a close embrace. “Happy to do it. Any more word on your dad?”

 

“No. But no news is good news in this case,” Kurt sighed, nuzzling Blaine's cheek before disengaging and moving to buckle his seat belt. “If it keeps quiet like this, I'll bring him home tomorrow afternoon.”

 

“That's great, Kurt, really great.” Blaine squeezed gently at Kurt's knee before getting back behind the wheel and pulling out into the street. “He'll be back on his feet in no time.”

 

Kurt nodded absently, his gaze fixed on nothing outside the car windows. “I hope so. Dr. Lopez was cautiously optimistic.”

 

“Great,” Blaine said again, unable to help being worried at Kurt's subdued distraction. Not that he didn't understand it, it just made it so that Blaine badly wanted to fix it and he had no idea how. “Hey. You sure you want to do this tonight?”

 

At first glance, Kurt looked like he wanted to say  _no_ , but instead, with reluctance, he nodded. “Yes. I do,” he confirmed, his fingers twining and knotting together as if he, too, were nervous. Blaine wondered why. He hoped his card hadn't caused it.

 

“Okay,” he replied simply, turning his attention back to the road. “Anywhere in particular you want to go?”

 

“No, just drive around,” was the quiet response.

 

So Blaine did, winding through the streets of Lima and concerned about the silence stretching between them. It wasn't long before he couldn't stand it. “Do you want me to change the radio station?” he offered, gesturing to the knobs. “Put in a CD? I still have your mixta-”

 

“ _No_.” Kurt's objection was vehement, almost a shout. It made Blaine flinch and pull away from the tuning knob as if stung. The confusion and fear he suddenly felt must have been clear on his face, for Kurt's own expression softened, and he reached a hand over to brush his hand over Blaine's in soft apology. “It's just...I like the quiet for now, Blaine.”

 

Blaine nodded, not sure what else he could say or do. More than ever he wanted to cheer Kurt up somehow, to pull the other boy out of his own head where he was obviously lost in a circle of worried thoughts. “Um...okay. So...I had something delivered to your house today,” he offered tentatively, casting a sidelong glance to see how Kurt would react.

 

To his surprise, Kurt actually turned to face him, a faint smile on his lips. “Yes. I found your card when I got home from the hospital. It was nice.”

 

 _Nice_ ? “Oh. Okay. Well, that's good.” Nerves were fluttering in his stomach again, but not happy nerves of anticipation – these were more like the nerves he'd felt right up until last night, before Kurt's apology and admission of fear and their lovemaking. Blaine felt as if something were coming, something he wasn't going to like at all. “I'm glad you liked it.”

 

“It was nice,” Kurt said again with another small smile, lapsing into silence again.

 

Blaine cast about for anything at all he could use to defuse the situation. He wanted to make Kurt smile like he had last night, this morning. Maybe Kurt hadn't quite understood the sentiment behind what he'd said in the card? The meaning didn't come across as strongly as he would have liked, perhaps, that's why Kurt just thought it was nice. Okay, that could be solved. He could make himself clear.

 

He pushed away the feelings of foreboding that were knotting in his stomach.

 

“So I sent you that card,” Blaine began, keeping an eye on Kurt in his peripheral vision. “I know I said a lot in it.”

 

“You did,” Kurt replied slowly, nodding. “Like I said, it was...nice.”

 

“Well, but it wasn't everything I wanted to say,” he hurried on, glancing between Kurt and the road. “I left some things out. Things I wanted to tell you in person.”

 

Kurt's eyes got wide. “Oh.” His hands twitched in his lap, fidgeting with the hem of his light cardigan. Blaine couldn't help but notice he'd wrapped himself in layers again, and wondered at it.

 

“I've been thinking this for a while, actually,” Blaine went on, continuing to push away the negativity and concentrating hard on what he wanted to say, wanting to get it as exactly right as the card. “Before we had the weird stuff going on...since I met, you, maybe. Or before. I've had a long time to think about it, and it's just been cemented since we really got together. More since last night.”

 

In the passenger's seat, Kurt was growing visibly agitated. “Blaine, no,” he pleaded, stretching a hand out. “Don't say it.”

 

“How do you know what I'm going to say?” This wasn't the reaction he'd expected, and it brought the nerves surging back even harder than before.

 

“I don't know,” Kurt admitted. “But I just think...don't, Blaine. Don't.”

 

But it was too late, the words there on the tip of his tongue and then rushing out to drift between them. “I love you.”

 

Even the air in the car was still, the only sounds being the engine and Collective Soul playing softly on the radio. Kurt was rigid in his seat, fingers clenched now around his seat belt shoulder strap. “You said it,” he whispered, face falling.

 

“I said it.” Blaine swallowed hard, knowing suddenly that it had been a mistake, but completely and utterly not understanding _why_. Everything had been so good between them less than a day ago. Just that morning, even. He didn't think that Kurt's father getting sick could explain the mingling of emotions on the other boy's face, anger and despair and hopelessness and total, total desolation. “Kurt, what is it, please?”

 

Kurt shifted in his seat, turning more fully to face him. “Please, Blaine, let's not put things on this level.”

 

“But what's wrong with this level?” His voice shook with fear, and he couldn't pull it back. “I thought it would be a good level. After last night it felt totally appropriate. Kurt, it was so good then, we were happy, I thought, just this morning. What's going on?”

 

One, two, three deep breaths. “I just think we should slow down. You're right, of course, last night was very significant, but I don't think we need to rush right into -”

 

Blaine yanked the car over to a side street and parked, breathing hard through his nose. “This? Again? You said you weren't going to jerk me around anymore. I told you I couldn't deal with it – what are you doing?”

 

“We're friends, aren't we?” Kurt's gaze was open, fear and hope in his eyes. “We can just stay there, on that level, being really close and...” His face crumpled. “No. No, I can't do it.”

 

“What can't you do?” But Blaine knew, he knew what was coming, and he didn't want it. 

 

“I think we need to stop seeing each other,” and Kurt clapped his hands over his mouth in horror, as if he couldn't believe he'd said it. “Oh, God.”

 

Blaine sat, stunned, unable to move. “Why are you..what...”

 

“I made my father sick again, Blaine, I put him in the hospital...one minute I was telling him about last night and the -”

 

“You _told_ him?” Shock immobilized him, followed quickly by embarrassment. “Your _dad_?”

 

“I had to tell him something!” Kurt was shaking his head. “He wanted to know where I was last night! And I'm sure it's not like you didn't tell Quinn!”

 

“No wonder he had an attack if you just fucking told him we slept together like that,” Blaine shot back before he thought, and immediately regretted it as Kurt jerked back, hand in a loose fist over his heart, clearly wounded. “Shit, no, Kurt, I'm sorry, I didn't mean it.”

 

“But you're not wrong,” was Kurt's bitter reply, his mouth twisting in his guilt and hurt. “I did it. I worried him and then I think I shocked him with that, and he couldn't handle it and I _made my dad sick_ , Blaine, and I can't do that again.”

 

Grief and rage rose in his throat, threatening to choke him. “Go back to last night, remember what you said then, say    
_  
those   
_   
  
things, don't do this to me again, don't turn everything from last night into a lie.”   


 

“I meant everything I said last night, Blaine, I meant it,” Kurt insisted, leaning over to take Blaine's face in his hands, frantic and pleading. “All of it, every word, but I didn't know what...with my father...I just... _how many more signs do there have to be?_ ” The question spiraled into near hysteria. “I was wrong, last night – I want to be with you, but I can't handle it, there's too much, school and my _father_ , he fell down into my arms this morning and I couldn't hold him up, Blaine, and _I did that_ , I made him worry so much he almost had a heart attack and I _can't_ , Blaine, I can't chance that again.” Kurt's face was naked in its need for understanding from Blaine, but it was something that Blaine couldn't give, even though he knew it was selfish of him. It hurt too much, this moment tearing through him like a serrated knife through his skin, going for his heart. “It's not fair to you for me to feel guilty about spending time with you, and I want _too much_ with you, I want it all -”

 

Everything faded away, all the noise a blur in Blaine's ears as he tried to reconcile all of it. He was frozen, half on last night hearing Kurt tell him  _I want it, I want all the new things with you. No matter how difficult it is now or in the future, I want it_ and the horrible things he was saying now,  _I was wrong, I can't, I'm sorry Blaine so sorry..._

 

He couldn't take it anymore. Blaine pulled away then, firing up the car and pulling back onto the road. “You can't? You changed your mind? Fine. Fine, whatever.”

 

“Where are we going?” Kurt's voice was broken and clogging with the tears Blaine knew he was refusing to shed, his damnable _pride_ keeping him from breaking down. Two could play that game. Blaine rolled his head, cracking his neck and taking a satisfaction in seeing Kurt wince at the sound.

 

“I'm taking you home,” he bit out, not even bothering to keep from speeding and glad they hadn't gotten too far. They'd be back at Kurt's place in less than five minutes. “I was going to offer to stay with you tonight, but I guess that's something you _just can't do_ ,” and Blaine knew he was being mean and mocking but his heart felt like it was being assaulted with a hammer. This gorgeous, wretched boy in the next seat had put him through every possible emotion in the world in the last 48 hours, and he simply couldn't handle any more. He had hit his limit, was about to exceed it.

 

“Don't be mean,” Kurt choked out, reaching to touch Blaine's arm and flinching when he pulled away. “Please. This is hard for me, too.”

 

Blaine swallowed, putting his chin in the air. “Then don't do it.”

 

Kurt's eyes closed. “I have to do it.”

 

“Well, then.” He steered the car onto Kurt's street and skidded into the Hummel driveway, not even bothering to throw the car into park this time. “I guess you've made your decision.”

 

“Blaine...”

 

“No. Get out.” Blaine stared straight ahead, his grip on the steering wheel so tight his hands hurt, the knuckles white as snow. “Get _out_ , Kurt.”

 

Without another word, Kurt grabbed up his satchel, scrambling out of the car. Just before he closed it, he seemed to think of something and rummaged in the bag, placing something on the passenger seat. “Write me,” he asked, his voice breaking further. “Write me after I go to England. Maybe once I'm there, once that time has passed, you'll be ready to.”

 

“Just go,” was all Blaine could say as he clung to frail control with everything he had, keeping his gaze straight and not looking over as Kurt gave up and shut the car door, running into his house like he was being chased. When Blaine looked over at the seat, he saw only a box, a long one emblazoned with _Montblanc_ in bold letters. Curious despite himself, he picked it up and opened it.

 

A pen.

 

Kurt had given him a pen.

 

After all of it, after everything he'd put Blaine through, Kurt had given him a pen.

 

All Blaine could do was laugh, broken and furious and hysterical and bitter, until rain started to fall outside and he, still parked in Kurt's driveway just as he'd been only that morning, began to hit the steering wheel and let the stinging, angry tears fall free to burn their way down his face.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Blaine is sent reeling by Kurt's sudden decision, and travels the streets of Lima trying to figure out how to cope.

* * *

Blaine had no idea how long he stayed in Kurt's driveway, grinding his teeth and clutching the steering wheel like his life depended on it. Minutes? Hours? Days? It seemed unending, the gaping ache of where it felt as if his heart had been pulled right out of his body. How did anyone function like this? Walk around like they hadn't just been torn to pieces? How did they make themselves _move_ ?

 

It wasn't until his pager went off in his pocket, vibrating his hip and startling the crap out of him, that he came back to reality. Scrubbing angry tears away with the heel of his hand, he extracted the beeper - Connie, of course. He pulled out of the Hummel driveway and drove to the 7-11 down the street, trying not to remember the morning after Puck's party, their first date, when everything was fresh and new and promising.

 

He felt so entirely stupid.

 

Parking by the pay phone, he climbed listlessly out of the car, not caring that he was immediately soaked by the downpour outside. He barely even huddled under the tiny overhang of the phone booth, slotting his quarters in and dialing the apartment phone. “Hey! Blaine!” His sister's voice was so cheery, it hurt. “I hate to bother you on your date, but I wondered if I could bribe you to pick me up a gallon of milk on your way home?”

 

“Hello, Constance,” was all Blaine could get out before apathy settled on his shoulders like a wet blanket. Connie waited on the other end of the line for more, her puzzlement almost audible. But all he could do was breathe, each puff of air an effort.

 

It was a good three minutes before Connie finally spoke up. “Blaine? Are you okay?”

 

“He broke up with me,” he replied dully, slopping his dripping hair out of his eyes. “It's just, it's so stupid, Connie, last night I thought we fixed everything and then today it's all over _again_. Like he just keeps...like he...and I still want him back, even though...” He couldn't seem to finish a thought. “I just want him back,” he burst out, heart sore and confused. “After all of it I still want him back, I want him to change his mind, how do I get him back?”

 

“Oh, Blaine,” Connie breathed, the sympathy in her voice burning like acid in his emotional wounds. 

 

“And he gave me a pen,” he went on, still trying to wrap his mind around _that_. “I gave him my heart and he gave me a pen. I don't...I mean...what?”

 

A sad sigh down the line. “Blaine, honey, just come home, okay? It's raining and you're upset.” Connie's anxiety only vaguely registered in his preoccupied thoughts. “Don't even worry about the milk. Just come home, okay?”

 

“I don't know. No. Not yet. Not now.” Blaine sniffled and wiped at his nose with the hem of his wet t-shirt. “I just want to drive around a while. Maybe I'll go to Quinn's. Something.”

 

His sister was silent for a long time, considering. “Okay,” she finally conceded with reluctance, evidently deciding to pick her battles. “But please, be careful. Be safe. Don't do anything stupid.”

 

“Yeah, okay.” He hung up the receiver and ducked back into the Volvo, turning the heat up full blast despite the sultry Ohio summer outside. Blaine felt chilled right through to the bone, that he wouldn't ever get warm again and wasn't entirely sure he wanted to.

 

The drip of water down his neck was annoying, though, and sent him fumbling over the back of the seat for a towel so he could dry off his hair. When his fingers touched fabric he pulled it up, only to realize he'd grabbed the blanket he and Kurt had cuddled under just a day ago. Blaine dropped it, recoiling from its presence as if it were a snake.

 

It had been so many years since he'd felt this lost and confused – not since eighth grade, since he covered his head and curled into a ball and tried to figure out why his classmates were beating the crap out of him. He desperately felt like he needed to talk to  _ someone _ , to lean on a shoulder and try to piece himself together – but at the same time, the thought of the  _ sympathy _ of it, the acid touching every place his heart hurt the most...Blaine couldn't bear it. 

 

But the silence in the car was so oppressive, a malevolent presence lurking around him that he could almost feel. Blaine fumbled forward for the volume knob on the stereo and turned it up, just to have some noise.

 

 _Nothing's so loud as hearing when we lie...truth is not kind, and you say neither am I..._

 

He snapped it off immediately.

 

A minute idea found its way through the shocky haze of his brain fog, sending him rummaging through his backpack. All through senior year he'd kept a mini-cassette recorder on hand to help back up the few written notes he bothered to take in classes. By some miracle it was still in there – well, not so much a miracle as he'd never bothered to empty out his backpack since graduation – and there was a fresh pack of batteries, too, plus a tape that had seen only a little use. He fished all of it out and changed the batteries, then lay the recorder down on the seat next to Kurt's pen.

 

With no clear destination in mind – only  _ not home _ and  _ not Kurt's _ – Blaine began to drive the streets of Lima in an aimless, rambling journey. The bad weather seemed to be keeping most residents safely tucked away in their homes, cozy and happy. He, on the other hand, was getting angrier and angrier, the slow simmer of it burning away his fog of shock and hurt. Keeping his eyes firmly on the road, Blaine picked up the mini-recorder and switched it on.

 

“Hello, Quincy,” he began, having decided to just pretend to talk to his best friend until he could actually stand to talk to her. “That...did not go the way I thought it would.” The swish of his windshield wipers accompanied Blaine's thoughts as he worked out what exactly to say. “So maybe romance really isn't my strong suit. I don't know. Now, it seems to me that when you tell someone you love them, the correct response is, you know,  _ not _ for them to dump you.” He swallowed and sniffled back a bout of unwelcome tears. “Obviously I'm not the world's foremost authority on the topic.  _ Very _ obviously.”

 

A few more turns and Blaine realized his path wasn't as meandering as he'd thought – he was back at the 7-11. “God, I'm going in circles,” he groaned into the recorder. “I think I'm trying to talk myself into going back to his house...fuck that. No. I'm done with Kurt 'I Can't Make Decisions Or Have Fun' Hummel. That is a mistake I won't make again,” he scoffed, sniffing back another bout of tears that threatened to undermine his fragile bravado. “I don't know, Quinn. Part of me wants to blame you. The encouragement, the support. God, you let me send that  _ card _ . You hand delivered it!”

 

But in the next minute, he sighed. “No. That's not fair. You told me at the beginning it was a bad idea, and I should have listened to you. So it's no one's fault but mine. I let myself fall too hard, too fast, I didn't listen to anyone. But it seemed so  _ right _ , Quinn. We fit so well...why doesn't he want to really try?”

 

The tears kept coming on, prompting another hard sniffle. “No more. You had the right idea, Quinn. No more falling in love. Gotta protect myself. So okay. As of right now, I'm cold. Icy. The Iceman, Power Blaine.” The ridiculousness of everything he was saying almost – almost - made him smile. “My assault on the world begins now. I'm focusing on skateboarding, deciding what I want to do next, where I want to go. My future is mine to plan.” He shook his still-damp hair back. “Kurt Hummel is dead to me. No longer exists. Not a part of my life. The rain on my car is a baptism, it's washing away everything that happened in here. Making it all clean, all new. This is where it all begins, Quinn.”

 

Finally running out of steam, and no longer able to hold back the renewed slow burn of tears down his face, Blaine clicked the recorder off and dumped it back into the passenger's seat. He wished he truly believed any of what he'd said. Part of him was tempted to just erase the recording. He didn't feel any better, and it would only upset Quinn.

 

But then he pulled into the parking lot of the Gas N Sip by Quinn's house and spotted Finn and Puck's cars in the lot, and he had another idea. Probably not a good one, but hell, Blaine reasoned, his night sure couldn't get a whole lot worse.

 

* * *

“Dude.” Puck's eyes were wide in astonishment. “The card didn't work?”

 

“You've asked me this five times now,” Blaine ground out, clenching his fist and telling himself that he would  _ not _ hit Noah Puckerman. “The answer is  _ still no _ . The card did not work, Puck.”

 

“I don't get why you sent a card.” Finn was confused. “Are you supposed to send thank you cards to someone just for sleeping with them? Do you think if I sent one to Quinn, she'd think about getting back together?”

 

“Absolutely not,” Puck and Blaine assured him in unison.

 

Mike passed Blaine a pint of Mad Dog wrapped in a paper bag. “Forget it,” he advised, shaking his head. “Kurt doesn't know how awesome you are, you don't need him.” Puck and Finn raised their own drinks and nodded in agreement.

 

“Yeah, but – I kind of  _ want _ him,” Blaine pointed out, taking a sip just to be polite. He grimaced at the cloying fruity taste of the alcohol. “Still.”

 

“Better you than me, then,” Mike advised. “Hey. What if you made him a sweet custom deck like you did for me?  _ I  _ almost wanted to date you after that.”

 

He nearly spit out the second too-sweet mouthful. “Sweet, but no,” Blaine retorted dryly. “Kurt's not really into our whole culture of reckless bodily endangerment, and anyway it's Jeff's artwork that made your deck awesome, not my assembling skills.”

 

Mike took his beverage back, disgruntled. “Oh.”

 

“I'm with my bro Chang,” chimed in Artie Abrams. “Hummel can't appreciate your fine self, he doesn't deserve you.” His calculator watch beeped out an alarm. “Sorry, homies, I gotta bounce.”

 

“Later, Artie,” they all chorused as he wheeled off, the LED lights on his wheelchair twinkling in the night. Finn looked up at Blaine, handing him a beer from the six-pack next to him.

 

“What you need is to find another guy,” he suggested, nodding his head. “Find another guy, date him, and, you know, dump him.”

 

“Charming.” Blaine couldn't keep the disgust out of his voice. “I can't imagine why Rachel and Quinn won't talk to you, Finn. Completely escapes me. And anyway, can you – can  _ any _ of you – think of another gay guy in Lima besides Kurt?” All three boys raised their hands. Blaine shook his head. “And Karofsky doesn't count.”

 

They all looked disgruntled as they put their hands down. “Doesn't that Evans guy swing both ways, though?” Mike wondered aloud, cocking his head and looking thoughtful. “Like David Bowie? Sam's okay looking, I mean, for a guy, I guess.”

 

Blaine took a long swig of the beer Finn had given him, making a face again at the taste. How did anyone drink alcohol for  _ fun _ ? “I met him at Puck's party. For one thing, he's into Kurt, from the impression I got. And he's not my type.”

 

“It's not about type,” Finn argued, gesturing expansively in his agitation. “It's about, you know, moving on, maybe a little revenge. I'm not telling you to  _ marry _ the dude. Just go out a few times, maybe make out or whatever, and dump him. It's easy.”

 

He couldn't hold back anymore. “Okay, one? That's a dick move, Finn.” Blaine began to pace back and forth. “Two, you don't get it. Kurt is a class unto himself. He's amazing. He's bigger than this town but he never once made me feel small. He's gorgeous and smart and talented, he's everything I won't  _ ever _ be, and that never mattered to him! Before things got all messed up, it was good, you know? We were happy just being around each other, and that's not something I can just  _ forget _ or get over by going out with some random dude...damn it!” In a sudden fit of rage, Blaine hurled the bottle in his hand against a nearby fence, spraying beer everywhere. “It doesn't fucking  _ work _ like that!”

 

The protests of the other boys were immediate and noisy. “Dude! You need to chill!” Finn was the most put out, given that it was one of his beers that had been sacrificed to Blaine's anger. “We're just trying to help!”

 

“You're an idiot,” Blaine informed him, and would have gone on if Puck hadn't jumped up to his feet and hustled him to the side.

 

“You do remember that Finn's like, two feet taller than you, right?”

 

“Half a foot at best, fuck off, Puckerman.” Blaine snapped, yanking his arm away. “Look, this was...I shouldn't have come here.”

 

Behind them, Mike and Finn had inexplicably begun to _rap_ . Puck and Blaine stared at them for a moment before shaking their heads and returning to their conversation. “Gimme one more shot,” Puck pleaded as Finn yelped rhythmically in what one could only assume was a vain attempt to beatbox. “Let me throw another party. I'll find some dudes, okay? There's a gay bar in this town somewhere, I'll go out to Columbus if I have to, but I'll find you some dudes. Not for Finn's idea, that was lame.”

 

“Yeah, and this isn't shaping up to be much better.” Blaine shrugged off the arm that Puck had draped around his shoulder, trying to block out Mike rapping _His name is Blaine and he's goin' insane 'cause he's got a guy named Kurt on the brain_. “Puck, forget it.”

 

“No, come on, I know you, I'll find guys that are good for you, we'll throw down, it'll be awesome. Just say the word, man. I'll get you any guy you want.” Puck's face was earnest and Blaine knew he was trying, but it just...no.

 

“I want _Kurt_!” he yelled in Puck's face, feeling helpless and raw and more lost than before he'd come here. “He's all I'm _ever_ going to want!”

 

Blaine spun on his heel and stalked away, covering his ears so he didn't have to hear Puck shouting after him, to hear Mike throwing out  _Kurt don't want him, Blaine don' t know what to do 'cept run around town actin' crazy like a fool..._

 

“That,” Blaine muttered grimly as he dropped into his car and buckled in, “was a mistake.”

 

* * *

Quinn arched one slender eyebrow at the bedraggled, sorrowful mess standing hunched over in the weak light of her front porch lamp. “So...you look like your night could have gone better.”

 

Blaine, clearly having been caught out in the evening's multiple rainstorms, tried to glare at her from under a mass of damp curls, but he looked more like a half-drowned puppy than a threat. Quinn sighed. “Come on in,” she invited, pulling the door open. “Shoes off. Let's get you cleaned up so you can tell me what you're doing here instead of at Kurt's.”

 

She didn't miss the flash of hurt that went across his face before she turned to go up the stairs. That and the fact that he hadn't said so much as  _hello_ worried her, but she simply kept a calm, pleasant face on as she led him to her room. He looked like he might break if she pushed too hard yet. 

 

Quinn's dresser had a single drawer that held a spare set of sleepwear and some toiletries for the times when Blaine stayed over. There was a similar drawer for Quinn at Connie's – after Quinn's stint in the hospital, they'd spent months sleeping over at each other's homes. She pulled out the pajamas and a toothbrush, tossing them one at a time to the damp, shaking boy in the doorway. “Go change in my bathroom,” she instructed, biting her lip as Blaine remained mute. “Toss the wet clothes out here and I'll go wash them for you.” She checked the drawer again. “Sorry. You're going to have to go commando. Does Connie know you're here?”

 

He nodded but didn't laugh, merely paced over to the bathroom in silence and shut the door behind him. Before long a pile of soaked clothing was shoved out into the bedroom, where Quinn gathered it up and took it down to the laundry room, setting it to wash. She thought for a moment and pulled down a pair of mugs, making hot chocolate to take back upstairs.

 

When she got back to her room, Blaine was sitting on her bed, listless and forlorn in his t-shirt and sleep pants, feet tucked into a pair of her oversized boot socks. He looked young, too young, and much too sad – the resemblance to the 13 year old Blaine who'd been beaten and traumatized by his classmates was too close. Quinn clamped down on the shiver she felt starting up her spine, crossing the carpet to shove one of the mugs into Blaine's hand. “Hey.” She climbed up next to him, nudging his shoulder. “Say something.”

 

His response, when it finally came, was a blow to the gut. “He broke up with me,” Blaine blurted out, clutching his mug tight. Quinn immediately reversed her decision on the hot chocolate and plucked the drink out of his hand before he could shatter the cup, leaning to place both beverages on the bedside table.

 

As soon as their hands were free, Blaine lurched over and wrapped his arms around her waist, burying his face in her stomach. Quinn's hands hovered reflexively for a split second before she settled them on his head and shoulder, unsure what to do next. “He broke up with me,” came the muffled repeat, beginning to sound a little watery.

 

Quinn sat, stunned, as Blaine took several heavy, ragged breaths and trembled in her lap. She combed her hand absently through his still wet hair, twisting curls around her fingers as she tried to comprehend what she was hearing. “This makes no sense,” she protested. “You were fine this afternoon. I dropped the damn card off myself.”

 

“It was tonight. A couple of hours ago.” His breath still came hitching out in gasps despite his best efforts at controlling it. “His dad's in the hospital again, he had a bad anxiety attack when we stayed out all night and didn't call him.”

 

“Oh.” But she still didn't quite understand. Mr. Hummel had had an actual heart attack before and it had actually brought Kurt and Blaine closer together. “It makes no sense,” she repeated, shaking her head. “Why did that make him break up with you? Did his dad say he had to stop seeing you?” Quinn felt her eyebrows knit together as she tried to make it all make sense. “I thought his dad liked you.”

 

“It wasn't his dad,” Blaine answered sadly, sitting up and using his shirt to wipe his nose. Quinn made a face and handed him the box of tissues from her end table. “I mean, I don't think his dad told him to. He just feels guilty. Or something...I sort of tuned out...” His voice faded out as he wrapped his arms around himself. “He feels guilty, like it's his fault, and there's no room for me when that happens.”

 

Quinn didn't know if she wanted to shake Kurt or strangle him to death. She closed her eyes and practiced the calming breath techniques her therapist had tried to teach her, but wasn't terribly surprised when they didn't work. “I cannot believe that our class Valedictorian is such a complete moron.”

 

“Stop it, Quinn,” Blaine objected, voice weak. “He's -”

 

“A moron,” she replied firmly. “You have done nothing but be there for him during a difficult time in his life, and he just keeps pushing you away and pulling you back...God! I thought he was so smart, but these are Finn levels of dumb.”

 

Blaine pulled his knees up and hugged them to his chest, shaking his head. “I can't...I can't talk about this, Quincy. I don't understand it. All I know is it hurts, and it sucks, and...I almost wish I hadn't asked him out, now.”

 

She felt her eyes pop at that outrageous statement, which told her more about Blaine's emotional state than anything else had, and made an executive decision. “I'll be right back,” she told him, slipping off of the bed and thumping down the stairs to the liquor cabinet. Thank God her mom was out of town this week. A quick search yielded half a bottle of bourbon and a big plastic tumbler. Perfect. She took them back up to her room, pulled a Coke out of the mini-fridge, and made quick work of combining the three things. “Drink,” she ordered, forcing the cup into Blaine's hand.

 

A frown crossed his face. “I don't drink soda, Quinn. Or alcohol. You know that.”

 

“I can hold your nose until you open your mouth, and then I can pour it down your throat,” she stated matter of factly. “We're a pretty close match in height and I still do gymnastics sometimes – are you sure you want to chance it? Because this drink is getting into you one way or another.” When he continued to hesitate, she pulled her trump card. “I _could_ just call Santana.”

 

Blaine downed half of the drink in one gulp, making a horrific face. “Okay, ugh, this is disgusting.”

 

“Don't worry,” she assured him, retrieving her hot chocolate and sipping at it. “You won't taste the next one.”

 

He paused with the cup halfway to his mouth. “You're going to make me drink  _two_ ?”

 

Quinn laughed, the short outburst bitter and angry. “I'm going to make you drink however many it takes to get you completely tanked, Blaine. So that at least for tonight you forget it and sleep. You can deal with all of this in the morning when it's not so fresh.” She swallowed down more of her cocoa. “It shouldn't take much, your tolerance can't be good.”

 

It wasn't. By the end of his second cup, Blaine was fully plastered and dancing loopily to New Order on MTV. Quinn left him to it and tiptoed over to her phone to call Jeff. “Yello.”

 

“Jeff.” She cupped her hand over the receiver, keeping her voice low and one eye on Blaine. “Can you be at my place in about an hour?”

 

“Um...yeah.” The beeps that had been in the background ceased as Jeff paused his game. “What's up? Everything okay?”

 

She shook her head, momentarily forgetting that he couldn't see her. “It's Blaine.”

 

“Blaine?” A rustling noise filled her ears as Jeff sat up. “But isn't he with Kurt tonight?”

 

Quinn had taken her eyes off of Blaine for one critical instant too long. She nearly toppled over as he attacked her from behind, wrapping his arms around her and kissing her noisily on the head. “No. He is not.”

 

“Quincy!” Blaine sang out, holding her tight and swaying them from side to side. “Your hair looks like cotton candy!”

 

She had a terrible premonition of what he would do next. “No, Blaine, don't -”

 

“Yuck. It doesn't _taste_ like cotton candy.”

 

Jeff was snorting with laughter. “Quinn. Is he  _drunk_ ?”

 

“Yes,” she replied shortly as she shoved Blaine off to resume his looping dance. Her tone was so brittle, Jeff's laughter died in his throat. “It was necessary. And now I have to do something. Can you come?”

 

“But Blaine never drinks.” The words came slowly as Jeff pieced things together. “Quinn, what happened?”

 

“I don't know exactly,” she replied, anger making her stomach churn. “But I do _fully_ intend to find out.”

 

* * *

She hadn't been to this house in over a year. Not since she quit Glee Club.

 

Quinn raised her hand to knock at the door, pausing as she wondered if Kurt would even answer. She wouldn't blame him if he didn't, she guessed. He had to know she'd be coming, and that she'd be furious. And oh, she was, especially after listening to the audio letter Blaine had drunkenly confessed to recording.

 

That wasn't Blaine on that tape, that broken mess of false bravado trying not to come apart. No.  _She_ was the broken one, not Blaine. Blaine was supposed to be an optimist, a lover and a friend and a shoulder to lean on when things were hard. But all of a sudden, the roles were reversed, the stage shifted, and she felt a little as if she were floundering, thrown into opening night with no rehearsal.

 

Quinn didn't know if she remembered how to be a shoulder to lean on.

 

And Kurt was not answering the door.

 

But she had no intention of leaving without at least some answers. Her fist rapped a sharp tattoo on the solid oak door. “Open up, Kurt,” she called, peering through the frosted windows that flanked the entrance, looking for any sign of movement. “Two cars in the driveway, I know you're here.”

 

The door opened abruptly while she still knocked, and she barely pulled her hand back in time to avoid hitting Kurt. His chin was lifted proudly into the air, his eyes rimmed in red. Quinn knew this Kurt, though it was one she hadn't seen in a very long time. This was a Kurt who was hurt, badly, and trying hard to hide that hurt beneath a veneer of arrogance. She'd seen this Kurt a lot two years ago, before his growth spurt and emerging status as Valedictorian were finally able to protect him from the harassment of their classmates.

 

When he finally spoke, his voice continued the charade, edged in ice and as calm as he could make it. “Quinn.”

 

She decided not to beat around the bush. “You were there for me. Sophomore year,” Quinn began, keeping her eyes steady on his. “When I thought I was pregnant.”

 

It was something no one knew besides the two of them, thanks to stupid chance more than anything. Something he'd discovered entirely by accident. Quinn had been sobbing hysterically in the girls' room, holding the little plastic stick in her hand with its horrible pink plus sign. Kurt had pushed resignedly through the door at that moment, covered in grape slushie and clutching at a bag of high-end skin care products.

 

“You're not supposed to be in here,” she had blurted, acutely aware that she had to look like hell, eyeliner and mascara streaking her cheeks, ponytail in disarray from where she'd been pulling on it. Pressing the pregnancy test to her chest, she watched as he arranged his products on the mirror ledge, a mind-boggling array of cleansers, exfoliants, and moisturizers.

 

“The girls' bathroom is cleaner,” was all he had said before beginning to comb purple ice flecks out of his hair. When he'd picked it all clean, he moved on to tend to his face, using a series of soft cotton pads and elixirs from the bottles on the ledge to clean away the sugary residue. Every so often, his eyes would flick over to glance at her, curious but cool.

 

Quinn hadn't known what to do. She couldn't keep having hysterics with him in there, but she wasn't ready to go out and face the general population of McKinley, either. Left with no other choices, she dampened a rough brown paper towel at the other sink and began to wipe away the makeup streaked under her eyes, wincing at the scratchiness of it.

 

A tap on her arm had startled her. Kurt stood there, expressionless, holding out a little cotton pad. “Lanc ôme eye makeup remover,” he'd explained, proffering the cotton circle again. “I made the Theater department work it into the budget this season – that's how good it is. Better for you than  _that_ .” He indicated the paper towel with a shudder before tilting his head to the side, a questioning look on his face. “Are you okay?”

 

The thought of this boy, obviously a target of bullying, still being generous enough to offer help and sympathy to the cheerleading captain – it had been too much for Quinn, who had burst into tears and told him  _everything_ before she could stop herself. And he'd listened, miracle of miracles, listened and helped her fix her makeup so she could go back to class, and when, a week later, a trip to Planned Parenthood revealed that the first test had been mistaken, Kurt had listened to her again, had hugged her while she cried in relief. They'd never been close before or since, but he'd remained an ally when she joined Glee, and he had never, ever revealed her secret to anyone.

 

A secret even Blaine had never known.

 

“You never said a word to anyone about that,” Quinn continued now, tilting her chin as high as Kurt's. “You sent me flowers when I was in the hospital last fall, too. You were there for me at Puck's party.” She took a deep breath. “All that plus the fact that I can be tried as an adult are the only reasons I'm not killing you at this moment.”

 

Kurt stepped back and held the door further open, eyes opaque and face shuttered over. “Come in.”

 

They moved into the living room, taking opposite seats and staring without speaking for a long, long time. Kurt broke first. “How is -”

 

“No.” Quinn held up a hand and cut him off. “He's been my best friend my entire life. I get to ask you my questions first, and if I decide the answers are sufficient, then maybe you can talk.”

 

He cleared his throat and nodded. “That's fair.”

 

It wasn't, really, but she knew he was well aware that it was all he'd get. She fixed him with a hard stare, raising one eyebrow. “Why did you do it?”

 

Kurt glanced down to where he was twisting his fingers together in his lap. “My father. He's sick. Again.”

 

“Which for me would be a time I'd _want_ my boyfriend – or whatever you two were – around.” Quinn shook her head. “Not a time I'd push him away, especially not after we slept together for the first time. What is wrong with you?”

 

“I put my father – my only living parent – in the hospital, that's what,” Kurt snapped, jerking his head up to glare at her. “He's in the hospital _because_ I was with Blaine and I forgot to call him.”

 

She felt her chin come up again. “That's not -”

 

“That's not Blaine's fault, no,” Kurt agreed, cutting off her protest. “Of course it's not. _None_ of this is his fault and he doesn't deserve what I've done – do you think I don't know that, Quinn? Do you think I _wanted_ to make this decision? That I _wanted_ to hurt him? _Again_?” His voice was clogged with tears and rage, his cheeks flushed an angry red.

 

“Then tell me _why_ ,” she gritted out, leaning forward in her seat. “Tell me why you knew he didn't deserve it but you did it anyway. Tell me why my best friend sent you a card telling you that you were the best thing he ever knew, but you decided it was a good idea to throw it right back in his face.”

 

Kurt pushed up to standing, beginning to pace the rug. He wrapped his arms around his waist as if he were trying to hold himself together. “I have less than two months before I go to England. You know that. You know I'm going to be gone for years.”

 

“Lots of people make long distance work, that's not a reason to dump him like you did.” Quinn stood up herself, glaring from under her bangs. 

 

“And that's not why I ended this. Please don't be obtuse.” All of the sadness was burned away, replaced with an icy disdain as he literally looked down on her. “I had thought you had a higher opinion of me than _that_ , no matter what I've done.”

 

She resisted the urge to slap him, reminding herself that the attitude was simply armor and that Kurt was not actually an asshole. “Then just explain.”

 

“I have two months left with my father. My, as I said, _only living parent_.” Kurt shoved a hand through his hair, sending it standing up in five different directions and not seeming to care – which was entirely unlike him at all and made Quinn frown to see it. “And I just put him in the hospital because when I'm with Blaine, I'm _only_ with Blaine – the world doesn't matter, _nothing_ outside of him matters, Quinn. It all falls away and it's only him.”

 

“And why is that a bad thing? Blaine feels the same way about you. Don't you think you both deserve it?” She opened her hands out, stopping short of pleading with him but needing to understand. “Isn't it what we all look for?”

 

“Not at the expense of my father.” Kurt's voice had dropped to a jagged whisper, and when she looked at him closely, she saw he was crumbling again, trying to hold back tears. “It's just...it's bad timing, Quinn, a series of coincidences that aren't working together, don't you see? I can't forgive myself if I go overseas and then something even more horrible happens to my dad. Something I could have prevented if I had been paying attention while I was here.”

 

 

The raw guilt in his voice gave her pause. “Kurt...”

 

“And it's not fair. It isn't and I know that, I _know_ it, Quinn. It's not fair to me and it's not fair to Blaine, but I just...I can't. I can't take the chance. I thought I could.” His eyes were pleading, full of agony and more of that guilt that was so hard to look at. “I really did. I would _never_ have said any of the things I did, would _never_ have done what we did if I didn't.” He dropped heavily back into his chair, putting his head in his hands. “And I wish I could undo it. I already miss him, I wish I could beg him to forgive me and come back. But I can't. I've caused him enough pain, that's _another_ chance I won't take again, he doesn't need me around hurting him at every turn.”

 

With a sigh, Quinn crossed over and sat on the arm of the chair next to him. “You are a mess. You don't think you could have handled this better? You're not stupid, Kurt.”

 

“I've never dated, Quinn,” he replied softly, eyes focused on his twining, twisting hands again. “You can't really find this sort of thing in a book or in one of Miss Pillsbury's pamphlets. I know they say follow your heart, but obviously I don't know how. Blaine does, I suppose, but I'm not Blaine...and anyway, how good an idea is that? Look where it got him. Falling for me, no one deserves that.” He raised his head to look at her. “Quinn, can you please tell him I'm sorry?”

 

“Oh, no.” She shook her head. “No, Kurt. I don't even intend to tell him that you and I had this conversation. I probably won't talk to you again after this, and I definitely won't be encouraging him to try and win you back, because you're right, you've done enough. I honestly hope you stay away from him until you leave the country. Try to let him forget this.”

 

Kurt closed his eyes, swallowing hard and taking a deep breath. “I suppose I earned that.”

 

She shrugged, not denying it. “I was opposed to this from the beginning.” At her revelation, his eyes popped open again, widening in his astonishment. “Yes. I was. Not because I have any problem with you personally, but because I just couldn't see how it could work. You're too different, you and Blaine. I mean, what even do you have in common?”

 

“That doesn't matter,” he began, but he stopped when she shook her head.

 

“I'm sorry, Kurt. I'm sorry it didn't work. I'm sorry that I thought you'd just break Blaine's heart and I'm even more sorry that I turned out to be right.” Quinn got to her feet. “I get why you did it. I understand now. That's what I came for.”

 

“But...?” He stood up as well, clearly understanding that she was almost done here. They walked in silence to the front door. 

 

“But I wish you felt like you were a strong enough person to handle it all. I have to admit, I'm a little disappointed in you. For you.” She tugged the door open and stepped out onto the porch.

 

“Quinn.” She turned to see him leaning in the doorway, more disheveled and upset than she'd ever seen him. “I really am sorry.”

 

Her shoulder tipped up in a shrug. “I'm not the one who needs to hear it.”

 

“But you don't want me coming near him.”

 

A sigh gusted out of her, feeling like it had come up from the tips of her toes. “No. But I can't stop you from trying any more than I can stop him from forgiving you when you do. Because he will. I think you know that.”

 

Kurt's eyes were bleak, his shoulders drooping from the weight of his choices. “I do. That's why I had to walk away. Have to stay away. So that he can't give me another chance to rip him to pieces.” Unshed tears shimmered in the porch light. “Quinn, he told me last night if I hurt him again that it might destroy him.”

 

“It won't,” she assured him. “He's stronger than he thinks. And I'll help him. It's the least I can do for him after everything he did for me.”

 

He sagged against the door frame. “Thank you.”

 

“I'm not doing it for you,” Quinn snapped before she thought, but the crumpling of his face made her instantly regret it. “Fine. You're welcome.” She fished her keys out of her hoodie pocket and paused for a moment. “Kurt. I hope your dad ends up okay. Good luck in England.”

 

For a long moment, he regarded her soberly, pushing his hair out of his eyes. “Thank you, Quinn. For everything. For not murdering me.” A tiny smile quirked up the corner of his mouth, a smile she faintly returned.

 

“Least I could do,” she said again. With a wave, she slipped into her car and headed for home, wondering if Blaine was still up and dancing or if he'd succumbed to the potency of the drinks she'd mixed for him. Quinn knew better than just about anyone that it was a bad idea to self-medicate with alcohol, but he'd been so wrecked...she just wanted to give him a temporary respite from the gnawing ache she knew he felt in his heart. Just for tonight, while she figured out how to truly help.

 

Jeff was laying on the pull-out trundle bed when she let herself back in, the light from his Game Boy playing over his face as he concentrated. He put his finger over his lips, indicating a sleeping Blaine with a nod of his head. “He went down hard about half an hour ago,” he reported in a whisper, running a hand through his hair. “He was fine and then...then he was super upset. Quinn, what's going on? Did you find out?”

 

“Yup.” She pulled herself up and into her bed, curling up around Blaine. “And it is a total mess, Jeff.”

 

“Can they fix it?” Jeff looked over at them, at how Blaine was sprawled out flat on his stomach, a wastebasket close by. “Tell me they can fix it, Quinn, because I've never seen him like this, and I could totally do without it. It's beyond wrong.”

 

Quinn didn't answer him for long moments, stroking her fingers through Blaine's hair and thinking about her conversation with Kurt.  _It is incredible how little time it takes to fuck a good thing completely up_ , she thought. “They can, I think,” she said finally, using her thumb to brush away the track of a tearstreak on Blaine's cheek. “But Kurt's too scared to try and Blaine...if I had my way, I'd lock him up until Kurt was gone. You know how he is. He's going to throw himself against the wall, hoping that something will stick. I don't want to watch that happen.”

 

Jeff reached over Blaine's sleeping form to grab her hand. “But it's not up to us, Quinn.”

 

“I know.” She sighed and pressed her cheek against Blaine's head. “And I've never been so annoyed about that in my _life_.”


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The boys struggle with the aftermath of Kurt's decision and each attempts to cope in his own way while their loved ones can only try to help containing the emotional mess they've made.

* * *

The good news about Burt not having suffered a full-on heart attack was that he could come home and resume his medical leave of absence from the shop as if no interruption had occurred.

 

The bad news about Burt not having suffered a full-on heart attack – and Kurt felt like a horrible child and human being for thinking about it for even a second – was that he could come home and resume his medical leave of absence from the shop as if no interruption had occurred. Which meant he had nothing to do except read the paper, watch TV...and pester his son.

 

“I haven't seen Blaine around for a while,” Burt commented four days after returning home, doing a terrible job at asking the question casually while Kurt brought him his lunch.

 

Kurt was frankly amazed that it had taken so long for Burt to notice it, actually. Or had he noticed early on and just waited to see if Kurt would bring it up? “Um, no,” he temporized, setting down the tray in his hands and wondering how to stall for time. Failing that, he wondered how he might gracefully exit the room and evade the rest of this discussion completely. “No, he hasn't been around.”

 

“Hm.” Burt grunted as he picked up his bowl of beef and barley soup. “Seems odd.”

 

The 'graceful exit' strategy died a quick, tragic death on the vine as soon as Kurt opened his mouth. “Well, summer job, busy schedules, you know,” he babbled, turning to go back to the kitchen for his own lunch, wondering if he dared just take the bowl and sneak out the back door to eat it on the porch. It wasn't a bad idea...

 

His father's voice stopped him in his tracks with a single word. “Kurt.”

 

Kurt sighed, eyes squeezed tight shut and fists clenched at his sides. That was The Father Voice, the one he couldn't prevaricate against and never had been able to. With difficulty, he swallowed back the sudden lump in his throat. “Dad,” he began, not turning around. “Blaine isn't going to be coming around. Not anymore.”

 

“And that would be because...” Burt's tone was still unrelentingly stern and sober as he waited for an answer. 

 

When Kurt peeked over his shoulder to gauge his mood, he saw that Burt had on what he thought of as The Father Look now, too, and he gave up. Turning back, he sat down in the chair near the sofa. “We broke up,” he admitted, twisting his fingers together to stop their trembling.

 

Burt added a raised eyebrow to The Father Look. “We?”

 

“Me,” Kurt amended, no little guilt surging into his chest as he did. “I did it. It wasn't mutual.” _Or even actually wanted_ , a little inner voice seethed viciously. He ignored it.

 

His father looked hugely disappointed at the news, which seemed somehow even worse than The Father Look. “Tell me I didn't hear you right.”

 

“Dad...”

 

“And tell me that you didn't pull that damn fool move because of me.” Burt picked up the TV remote and clicked off the set, keeping his eyes on his son.

 

Kurt felt his face burning with that damnable tell-tale flush that always, always gave him away. “Well,” he hedged, squirming, but he didn't get any further before Burt smacked the remote down on the table, fully agitated.

 

“Damn it, Kurt.” He was shaking his head, seeming to be at a loss for words. “Damn it,” he repeated, the disappointed look in full force.

 

“I panicked! I'd just put you in the hospital!” Kurt held out his hands as if to ward his father off. “You collapsed right in front of me, Dad, I...it made me think.”

 

“It sounds like it made you _stop_ thinking, Kurt. It was an anxiety attack!” Burt protested, but this time it was his turn to be cut off as Kurt shook his head with vehemence.

 

“I didn't know that at first. All I knew is that I made you angry enough to be hospitalized. And then later when I _did_ know what was going on, all I could think...” He choked back the acrid taste of the notion of his father's death, swallowed down the words that stuck in his throat. “It could have been worse, Dad, so much worse, and I would have caused it. I can't take that chance again.”

 

“But that's not something you can blame yourself for, Kurt,” his father argued, setting his soup back down and pushing it aside. “I'm an adult, I'm supposed to be responsible for my own health, not you. Besides, you can't take care of me forever. I won't let you, and you're leaving in two months anyway.”

 

“Exactly.” Kurt settled back into his chair, feeling distinctly mulish. “I'm leaving. And I will not risk putting you back into the hospital again before I go, I'll do all I can to prevent it. I only have two months and I'll be gone for years. You're my only parent, you're too important to me to take chances.” It felt like the thousandth time he'd explained this, even though it was only the third. The fourth, if he counted his own explanation of it to himself. 

 

For all that it was a sobering, very real reason for his decision, even he rebelled against it, Kurt realized wearily, wishing now that he was better at being rational in the face of emergencies. But it was too late. He'd messed up too much.

 

Burt was regarding him closely as he said this, a knowing look on his face. “And Blaine?” he asked, crossing his arms. “How does Blaine feel about this?”

 

Now Kurt fidgeted in his seat. “As I said,” he began reluctantly, not looking at his father, “it was not a mutual decision.”

 

“So he's pissed at you. Well, he should be.” Settling back into his own seat, Burt's face was even more sternly fatherish than before, making Kurt feel about twelve years old. “Has he tried to call?”

 

If any more blood rushed to his head, Kurt thought he might pass out. “Um, I don't know,” he replied slowly, the lie burning in his cheeks.

 

Burt simply raised a skeptical eyebrow at him. “Oh, really?”

 

* * *

Quinn twisted her key in the lock and pushed open the apartment door, blinking as her eyes tried to adjust to going from bright sunlight to gloomy darkness. “Hello?”

 

Jeff looked over from where he was playing 'Yoshi's Cookie' with Jason in his lap. “Hey.” Tilting his head back slightly, he indicated a blanketed lump on the sofa. Quinn dropped her bag and moved over to sit on the lump.

 

“Ow,” came Blaine's raspy voice from under the depths of the blanket.

 

“I'm 115 soaking wet,” she informed him, bouncing a little. “Shut up.”

 

Blaine tugged the blanket up further over his head, curling down into a tighter ball. When he bucked up his hip a little to try and shift her off, Quinn simply kept her balance and waited for him to give up. After several fruitless attempts at dislodging her, he went limp. “Ugh. Go away.”

 

“Fat chance.” Shaking her head, Quinn looked around. Connie liked things kept tidy, so the only evidence of Blaine's wallowing was confined to the end table – two Slushie cups, an empty pint of cookie dough ice cream, and one half-consumed bag of Cool Ranch Doritos. “Wow. You have clearly reached Defcon One on the breakup scale. Don't you have a meet in Cincinnati coming up? You're not going to get any hangtime on your stunts if you pack on twenty pounds of comfort eating weight.”

 

“Fuck the meet,” came Blaine's responding grumble, alarming both of his friends. Over by the TV, Jeff found himself having to explain to Jason that some words were just for Uncle Blaine and shouldn't be repeated to Mommy. Quinn shot up to her feet and yanked the blanket right off of Blaine, ignoring his protests.

 

“Good,” she remarked, leaning down to inspect him closely. “You're showering, at least, that's something. I'd bump you down to Defcon Two except...'fuck the meet,' Blaine, really?” She ignored Jeff's glare of consternation and Jason's question about why it was okay for Aunt Quincy to use Uncle Blaine's words.

 

Blaine sat up on the couch and wrapped his arms around his knees, huddling as small as he could get. “So I don't feel like doing a meet. Whatever.”

 

“Except that skaters who don't compete and win don't get endorsement deals,” Quinn pointed out. “Which last I checked was kind of your plan for the immediate future?”

 

“Plus you were looking forward to Cincy,” Jeff chimed in over his shoulder. “You said you were thinking of taking Kuuuurrrnever mind sorry crap I'll shut up now.” He blushed a furious crimson and ducked his head down to hide behind the preschooler in his lap, focusing overly intently on their game. Quinn shot him a murderous glare before turning back to Blaine, who had flopped over and curled back up into his corner of the couch, away from the room.

 

“Blaine,” she started, sitting down next to him and touching a tentative hand to his shoulder. But she paused, unsure how to go on, what to say. She thought back to everything everyone had told her after the whole Finn debacle, thought of how she'd hated all of it and nothing had helped. All that _had_ helped was time – and the last time Blaine had tried to suggest that to her, she'd chased him from her room, hurling stuffed animals and vicious invectives at his head.

 

Sometimes Quinn was actually amazed that Blaine was still her friend, now that she thought about it.

 

“I'm not going to throw anything at you, Quinn,” was the muffled mumble from the corner of the couch. Blaine turned back over again to face her with bloodshot eyes and a tired, resigned expression. “I know. Time.”

 

“Sucks, though. You know I know that,” she admitted with a sigh. “I'm sorry, Blaine.”

 

“Me, too.” Jeff scooted over, looking contrite.

 

“Me, too,” echoed Jason, climbing up onto the couch to throw chubby arms around his uncle's neck. Blaine sat back up and hugged him tight.

 

“You don't have anything to be sorry for, munchkin,” he told his nephew with as much of a smile as he could muster. Looking at his friends, he added, “And neither do either of you. None of this was your fault. I'm the one who didn't listen to your advice.”

 

Quinn reached over to run her fingers through his hair. “You're not an idiot, Blaine. You saw something you wanted and you went for it. People do it every day.  _You_ do it every day – it's who you are. That doesn't make you an idiot, it just means the odds were against you this time.”

 

He blinked at her, mild confusion on his face. “Is that supposed to make me feel better?” he asked finally, shaking his head. “Because...it didn't work.”

 

“I'm not very good at...” She cast a panicky look over at Jeff. “A little help?”

 

Jeff snorted and shrugged. “I think you should call him.” Quinn slugged him in the arm. “Ow!”

 

“I said help! Are you nuts?” she snapped, pulling her fist back in case she needed to go at him again. “Of course he shouldn't call him! Calling Kurt is the _last_ thing he needs to do! That is the opposite of helping, Jeff!”

 

“No, I am not nuts,” Jeff shot back, rubbing at the sore spot and shoving himself back out of her reach. “I think it _would_ help. I'm serious. Call him, Blaine, don't give up.”

 

“Jeff, stop it. What's wrong with you?” Quinn was incensed, throwing her hands into the air as she tried to work out any possible good reason for his suggestion. “If this were me and Finn, you would be saying exactly the opposite. You _did_ say exactly the opposite!”

 

“Right, because we _all know_ Finn is a total douchebag, even you admit that now,” retorted Jeff. He got up on his knees so he could more directly meet Quinn's eyes, and she had to blink at the fire of conviction that she saw there. Where had easygoing Jeff gone? “Kurt's not. He's not playing Blaine off of another dude, Quinn, this is a totally different situation. Kurt's worth fighting for.”

 

Quinn shook her head in violent disagreement, hair flying. “It's not that different a situation, it's had the same result.” She gestured to Blaine, who was sitting in silence just watching them argue. “He's miserable, and if he calls Kurt but Kurt doesn't pull his head out and straighten this mess up – and the chances of that aren't great - then Blaine will just end up  _more_ miserable.”

 

“At least he'll have tried.” Jeff could be remarkably stubborn when he wanted to be – he deployed it so infrequently, she'd forgotten. His jaw was set as he crossed his arms and raised his chin. “You know Blaine. You know he'll never forgive himself if he doesn't give it every effort. I know you don't want to watch him throw himself at -”

 

“Guys. Hi. I'm right here? I can hear you.” At Blaine's weary interjection, both of his friends broke off their squabbling to look at him. “Forget it, okay? I'm not going to call him. I already...” He swallowed and bowed his head. “I draw the line at seven unreturned phone calls,” he ended up mumbling into Jason's fluffy hair, squeezing him closer.

 

Jeff and Quinn exchanged worried glances. “I still think he's worth fighting for,” Jeff griped stubbornly. He held his arms out for Jason to scramble down into them so they could resume their video game. “Go visit him at his house, then. You can't ignore someone standing right in front of you.”

 

“No way.” Blaine leaned down and picked up his blanket from where Quinn had dropped it onto the floor, cocooning himself back into it. “I'm not going back there. I don't even know who you're talking about.”

 

Settling Jason down in front of the TV set, Jeff spun back around, anger and concern all over his face. “Why are you being like this, Blaine? It's not like you! You're not a quitter, you never have been.”

 

“Yeah, well, this is different, Jeff. You'll understand one day, when some girl tears out your heart and stomps it into the ground,” Blaine snarled, pulling the blanket tighter. “I'm a _guy_. I have pride.”

 

Jeff rolled his eyes and opened his mouth to object, but Quinn waved her hand to stop him. She was still pretty convinced that Blaine should stay far, far away from Kurt...but Jeff had a point, and she'd be willing to put money on the chance that Blaine was sooner rather than later going to ignore her advice anyway and contact Kurt again. She sighed. “You're not a  _guy_ .”

 

Blaine shifted and one confused hazel eye peered out from under the blanket. “Yes, I am?”

 

“No.” Quinn shook her head. “The world is full of guys, Blaine. Be a man. Don't be a _guy_.” She sat back down on the couch and regarded the inert lump of sadness that was her best friend. “If you want to fight for him, do it.”

 

Blaine's one visible eye blinked slowly as he considered it. All at once, though, the blanket was yanked back into place and the eye disappeared. “No,” came the muffled assertion. “If he wants me, he can come to me. I've done my part.”

 

Quinn couldn't find it within herself to disagree with him.

 

* * *

“So what you're telling me is that you have no idea whether or not Blaine's tried to contact you.” Burt snorted, keeping a gimlet eye on his son as he continued to eat his lunch. “Bullshit, kiddo. We have Caller ID and an answering machine.”

 

“Maybe I haven't had time to check it,” Kurt countered, but he knew the excuse was lame even as it was coming out of his mouth. He'd been home with his father for four days, only leaving to go to the store or the library. He had had nothing _but_ time to check the answering machine and the ID display. And he had. 

 

He knew Blaine had called seven times, had listened to the messages with his heart in his mouth, forcing himself to not pick up the phone. He listened to that broken, heartbreaking voice asking him to please, please call back, and when the messages were done he resisted the urge to play them back again, simply erasing them from the machine and ignoring the further splintering of his heart.

 

Burt was talking. Kurt shook his head to clear it and tuned back in. “...god forbid I  _should_ actually kick the bucket, Kurt, because what're you gonna do? Who are you going to lean on when you keep pushing people away?”

 

He blinked, wondering how the conversation had gotten here without his noticing. “I have Aunt Sarah,” he ventured, frowning. Burt just stared at him.

 

“What are you so afraid of, Kurt?”

 

The question was unexpected and threw him off balance. “Losing you, of course, Dad. And having it be my fault.” 

 

Burt huffed. “No, Kurt. I mean with Blaine. He likes you. You like him. And I'm assumin' he means somethin' to you, given...you know.” He flapped his hand, face and head going entirely pink. “The other night.”

 

“He does,” Kurt replied softly, taking long steady breaths . “And it's not like it was easy for me to come to the decision that we had to be apart. It wasn't. Especially after...after that.”

 

“And you're not comfortable with the decision.” Burt eyed him shrewdly. “Betcha you think you made a mistake.”

 

Drawing back his shoulders, Kurt felt his nose going into the air, felt himself gathering his old defensive walls and armor up. “And if I do?”

 

“Fix it. Change your mind. If he's calling you, I bet he wouldn't have a problem with it.” Burt tilted his head, and Kurt could see he really thought it was that simple. 

 

“I can't. I can't. “ The words echoed in his mind even as he uttered them, drumming in rhythm with his visceral fear for his father. “The timing was just all wrong and now -”

 

“The timing is _always_ wrong, kiddo. I was dating another girl when I met your mother.” Burt chuckled. “It all has a funny way of workin' out, if you let it. You just can't run scared or use me as an excuse.”

 

“You don't get it,” Kurt argued, frustrated that no one seemed to understand. “How can you not get it? I just put you in the hospital because I was so wrapped up in Blaine.”

 

Whatever response Burt had to that was cut off by the ringing of the phone. Kurt got up and crossed over to the table to pick it up, stopping when he saw the name on the Caller ID. He closed his eyes against the pang in his heart. 

 

“It's him, isn't it?” Burt didn't wait for an answer. “Pick it up, Kurt.”

 

But Kurt stepped back, distancing himself from the machine as he wrapped his arms around himself. “No. I can't. If I do it, we'll just get back together.”

 

The answering machine clicked on. “Hi, Kurt. It's Blaine.”

 

The rattle of spoon against pottery bowl came from behind him as Burt resumed eating again. “Would that be so bad?”

 

Kurt didn't answer, keeping his attention intent on the answering machine. “This is my eighth and final call,” continued the joyless monotone from the machine that sounded like a cruel, faint imitation of Blaine. Burt glared reproachfully at Kurt.

 

“You don't know if he called, huh?” He pressed his lips together in a frown as Kurt waved a hand to shush him.

 

“I haven't really slept much lately,” Blaine's voice went on. “And I'm not saying this to make you feel bad for me, I just wonder if it's the reason I feel like maybe this was all a dream. If I imagined there was a time that this guy I liked, this guy everyone told me I had no chance with, you know, if I imagined he actually gave me a chance. I don't know. I just...if it was a dream, it's a nightmare now and I don't know how to wake up from it.”

 

“Blaine,” Kurt whispered, reaching a hand out to the cordless handset for only a second before snatching it back. He held his hands to his chest, physically holding himself back from picking up the phone.

 

“I don't know how to make this stop being painful. I don't know how to make myself stop wanting to give you one more chance. We _worked_ , Kurt, you know we did, I don't think you should give that up, I think you should have wanted to work through it...” A hint of fire sparked in Blaine's voice, but it was gone as quickly as it had arrived. “...I wish you hadn't done this. I won't beg, I'm just going to say I wish you didn't blame yourself for so much that's out of your control, I wish you hadn't taken that out on me. Us. You just...you make me so angry, Kurt, and so tired, but I can't...”

 

There was the sound of a deep breath, the sound of Blaine trying to gather himself back together. “Anyway, you're probably screening this call, your dad is probably listening...” Blaine's voice faded out for a moment and Kurt heard a muffled sniffle before he came back, clearly audible again. “The card. If you still have it, burn it. Rip it up. Destroy it in some way, just get rid of it. It hurts me to know you have it.”

 

Kurt unconsciously curled his hand into a loose fist over his aching heart.  _Never_ , he thought, everything in him resisting the very idea.  _Never, ever_ . That card was still tucked safely in his bag. He fully intended to take it with him to England. To keep it until it fell to pieces. He never wanted to forget that once, someone had felt like that about him. That once, for a little while, he had felt he'd deserved it.

 

“I hope your dad's feeling better. Goodbye, Kurt.”

 

The dial tone buzzed and filled the room until Kurt punched the machine off. He stood there, holding his hand over his heart and trying to breathe. Rather hysterically, he entertained the notion that this would all hurt less if he could just take his heart _out_ and put it aside for a while, make it stop turning slow, painful somersaults in his chest every time he thought of Blaine. 

 

Burt sucked in a deep breath, breaking the silence and pulling Kurt's attention back to the room. “He sounds -”

 

“He sounds wrecked,” Kurt interrupted, his voice flat and bitter. “He sounds like I broke his heart. Like I ripped it out of his chest and crushed it. Since that's exactly what I did...” He broke off, carefully rubbing at his eyes that were stinging with tears yet again. It seemed like he hadn't had a day without at least one instance of angry tearing up. His eyes were constantly sore, and in the last five days he'd gone through more Visine and his best under-eye emollient than he cared to think about.

 

“So how are you going to fix it?” Burt clinked his bowl back down onto the coffee table. “Because you are. You're too good a kid to leave someone hurting like that, and anyway, it's not like you two don't wanna be together. Don't even try to tell me otherwise. I heard him. I see you.”

 

“I'm not going to fix it.” He turned to face his father, stomach churning to see the renewed disappointment there. Was there ever going to be a day again where he didn't hurt or disappoint someone? Including himself? “I'm not. It's better this way.”

 

Burt's jaw dropped. “How can you say that? You heard the same message I did!” He pointed at the machine, hand shaking in his agitation. “You messed up, Kurt, and I get why you feel guilty, but you need to fix this. You can't let him go on like that.”

 

“I can.” Kurt shook his head, wiped angrily at a tear that had escaped his control and was rolling down his cheek. “I can, and I have to. It's not just about your health, though that's still a big thing for me no matter what you say...it...I just...” He inhaled hard, and it felt like burning. “I know I made a mistake. I know I could fix it. I know he would take me back and I would be happy to spend years of my life apologizing and making it up to him, but I'm not going to do that.”

 

“Jesus, Kurt, why the hell not?” Burt could only stare now, clearly amazed and appalled. That wasn't any better or less hurtful than his disappointment, but Kurt couldn't feel anything but deserving now of all the hurt he got. It still wouldn't come anywhere close to touching the hurt he'd heard in Blaine's voice on all of those messages. He wrapped his arms more tightly around himself, feeling like if he didn't, he'd crumble to pieces.

 

“I don't trust myself not to hurt him again,” he explained slowly, hearing the hollowness in his voice. “I've done it twice now – there was another time you didn't know about, and the other night I promised him I wouldn't do it again and then I panicked and I _did_.” The unwelcome lump was choking him again, forcing him to swallow several times before he could go on. “I can't do it again, I can't risk it.”

 

“You won't risk my health, you won't risk Blaine's feelings – I didn't raise you to not take chances, Kurt, I didn't raise you to be afraid.” Burt was incredulous as he tried to make sense of all of it. “I thought this boy was important to you, but you're not even trying.”

 

“No. I'm not. Because he _is_ important to me. And because you also raised me to do right by other people to the best of my ability,” Kurt replied dully, lifting his head to watch his father as he explained. “That's what I'm trying to do now. To make sure I don't do anything to put you back in the hospital, and to not ever have the chance to hurt Blaine again. He doesn't deserve that.”

 

“He doesn't seem to care, though.” Rubbing at his forehead, Burt fought to understand, to change his son's mind. “He said he'd take you back. I mean yeah, he wishes he didn't want to, but...”

 

“And I am not going to give him that chance.” It ripped Kurt in two to even say it, but he had to hold firm. In the face of the massive mistake he'd made, at least he could avoid making one more.

 

“Kurt...” Burt's voice fell away as he searched for anything else to say. Kurt waited, but when it seemed nothing was forthcoming, he turned away to head up to his room. “No, Kurt, stop.”

 

He glanced back over his shoulder. “Yes, Dad?”

 

Burt took a moment to visibly compose himself before asking his question. “Do you love him?”

 

It had taken his father a lot to ask that, Kurt knew – accepting of his son's preferences he may be, but they were still in the adjustment period where Burt got used to what it meant. Therefore, he deserved the best answer Kurt could give. He measured out his options, in the end deciding to go with the truth even as the words hurt to say. “Of course I do,” he admitted, closing his eyes to hear himself say it aloud for the first time. “So much it takes my breath away. So much I can't even get my brain around it.”

 

Burt tried one last time. “Then why?”

 

“Because I do love him.” Kurt inclined his head and watched his father's eyes go wide. “I love him enough to want to protect him from my stupid, selfish, hurtful self. That's why. He's got the biggest heart in the world and I won't mangle it any further.” Turning his back on his father's protests, Kurt walked away and trudged up to his room, locking the door behind him before he burrowed under the covers.

 

Across town, Blaine emerged from the bathroom he'd holed up in to make his call and shuffled through the living room, ignoring Jeff and Quinn and Jason in favor of adopting a similar position on the couch. He pulled the blanket back over himself and wished that he could sleep through all of this, that he could just sleep and sleep and sleep until he woke up and it didn't hurt anymore.


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Blaine gets by with a little help from his friends; Kurt copes with his father and the nagging sensation of deep regret.

 

* * *

“Get up.” Quinn's voice was sharp as she yanked the blanket right off of Blaine where he lay huddled on the couch. Ignoring his protests, she turned around and stepped away, folding the blanket neatly and setting it on a nearby chair. Her expression was impassive as she faced him again, his glare making not a dent in her composure.

 

“I'm going to have Connie take your key back,” he finally grumbled, sitting up and wrapping his arms around his knees. But this had no effect on her either, judging by the way she ignored it in favor of brushing invisible lint from her ripped up jeans.

 

“Good luck with that,” she replied coolly, moving to adjust the strap on her tank top. “She sent me over here to get you out of bed.” A tiny smirk curled up one side of her mouth as she leaned down to tug him to his feet. “Up and at 'em, Blainers. We're going to the skate park.” Grabbing his shoulders, she pointed him in the general direction of the bathroom and shoved.

 

Happily, his excellent reflexes prevented anything more than an injury to his pride when he bounced off of the wall he hit after she misjudged her aim. “Excuse you,” he protested, rubbing at the toes he'd stubbed. “I'm not going anywhere.”

 

Quinn rummaged through the laundry basket by the couch and tossed him a change of clothing. “It's cute how you think you get to debate this.”

 

The frightening determination on her face sent Blaine fleeing into the bathroom without a second thought. Had he pushed the issue, he had a feeling she'd have tested her ability to strip him naked and shove him into the shower herself. And he was 98% sure she would have won.

 

In less than an hour, Blaine found himself showered, dressed, fed a breakfast that didn't consist of ice cream or corn chips, and bundled into Quinn's Impala, skateboard in hand. “I am...really not in the mood for this.”

 

“Noted.” Quinn threw the car into reverse and pulled out. They drove without speaking for long moments, their only accompaniment the grind of the engine and the tape playing on the radio. Blaine recognized it as a mix he'd made for her months ago, not long after she got out of the hospital and dyed her hair bright pink.

 

“So what tape are you going to make for _my_ breakup?” He was amazed at the level of bitterness he could hear in his voice. A sharp glance from Quinn told him she'd caught it, too, and was equally startled. Turning her eyes back to the road, she reached over and grabbed his hand for a fast squeeze.

 

“We are not talking about this today.” Her voice was compassionate but firm, and she was shaking her head. “We have spent the last week going over every detail, everything you could have done differently – which is _nothing_ , by the way – I am not doing this today. Give yourself a break, Blaine. One day, just _one_ where you're not obsessing over it. Please.”

 

Blaine slumped down in his seat, crossing his arms and staring out the windshield at nothing. “Easy for you to say.”

 

“Yes, actually.” Quinn steered them through the streets of Lima, taking a circuitous route to the skate park. It didn't escape Blaine's notice that they were driving a route that wouldn't lead anywhere near places that might remind him of Kurt – but the conspicuousness of their absence only served to remind him anyway. With a sigh, he returned his attention to what Quinn was saying. “...I know it just...I know it hurts. I'm forcing you into one day without talking about this _because_ I know it.”

 

Blaine just let her words wash over him, to go in one ear and out the other in a soothing stream. These were all things he knew already, things he'd said to her himself. No wonder she'd thrown things at him – in his current state, the words were meaningless and hollow, completely unhelpful. He couldn't believe he'd never realized how useless he'd been. Words changed nothing. They didn't fix anything – oh God, how he wished words could fix this mess, bring Kurt back, he'd thrown so many words at Kurt to no avail - and they sure as hell didn't magically make him feel better.

 

What was waiting at the skate park when they finally arrived only served to compound his annoyance. Puck, Mike, and Jeff were there – that was only expected – but so were a couple of his fellow circuit skaters from Westerville, laughing and joking with the Lima skaters. “What the fuck is going on?” he muttered, climbing out of the car and grabbing his board.

 

“Blaine!” Wes hailed him cheerfully, with an enthusiastic wave. “We heard you were talking about pulling out of Cincy this weekend and we decided we can't let that happen.”

 

“Like, what is that _about_?” Nick was grinning broadly. “You can just tell us if you're all scared of us now, you know?”

 

Blaine shot a glare at Quinn, who shook her head, wide-eyed. “Okay, this part was not me.”

 

“Nope. It was me.” Jeff beamed a smile at them from his position leaning against the half-pipe, looking entirely too pleased with himself. “I tried to get David too, but he had a family thing.”

 

“Ah.” Blaine forced a smile and grabbed Jeff by the elbow. “Talk to you for a sec?”

 

His friend gave an easy shrug and loped alongside of him until they were far enough away from the others that they didn't have to whisper to avoid being overheard. “What's up?”

 

“Uh, you dragging almost everyone we know out here for some kind of bizarre four-wheeled intervention, maybe?” Tugging a hand through his hair, Blaine wished he'd insisted on driving. That way he didn't have to be stuck here going through this well-meaning circus. He could just _leave._ But no, he had to stay here, to let himself be _helped_. “Why, exactly?”

 

“Everyone we know? Dude, it's like, four people besides you and me.” Had Jeff been any more laid back, he would have been horizontal. “Because it might be nice to talk to people who aren't me or Quinn,” he replied with another loose shrug. “I mean...Puck told us what happened at the Gas N Sip. Other people seemed like a _really_ good idea.”

 

“Great,” Blaine groaned, wishing even harder for the comfort of his cocoon on the couch. Jeff nudged at his shoulder.

 

“We did it for Quinn, remember?” His face sobered as he watched Blaine carefully. “We got all the Cheerios to come visit her in the hospital. She said it didn't help her then, I know...” He shoved his hands into his pockets. “But she told me yesterday that in the end, it did. So now it's your turn. Because we want to help.”

 

Jeff looked so hopeful that there was nothing to do but go along with it. Nobody needed to see him pitch a fit over this and it wasn't like Quinn was going to let him get out of it anyway. Blaine heaved a resigned sigh. “Well, a couple of hours of skating won't hurt, I guess.”

 

“Try not to sound so thrilled,” Jeff shot a lopsided grin at him before slinging an arm around his shoulders. “Oh yeah, and you might as well agree to go to Cincy, by the way. I think Quinn and your sister are planning a kidnapping if you don't.”

 

“Oh for the love of...” This time when Blaine sighed, it felt like a full body effort. “Fine.”

 

“Wes and Nick said we could split a room with them,” Jeff offered as they strolled back to the group. “They're at the Comfort Inn, hey, free breakfast and ESPN.”

 

Blaine snorted, almost laughing for the first time in days. “Wes snores,” he scoffed, pitching his voice loud enough to ensure the Westerville guys heard him. Wes pretended to recoil in mock outrage.

 

“For that, you can sleep on the rollaway, Anderson. Better yet, the floor.” Reaching over, Wes grabbed Blaine in a playful headlock and gave him a thorough noogie. “Anyway, you basically leave a litter of kittens in the hotel sink when you shave your damn face.”

 

“That was once!” Blaine howled, shoving Wes off and tackling him to the ground.

 

Jeff and Quinn had it right, he thought as he play-wrestled with his competitor and friend in the warmth of sunshine and smell of grass, letting the Ohio summer sink into his bones and melt away a little of the gray fog that Blaine felt had been running in his veins instead of blood for the last week. He really had needed a break, however short, from the overwhelming grief and confusion, from the cocoon on the couch and the endless pints of ice cream and circular whirl of trying to figure it all out. He felt more like himself than he had in days – some moments felt like Kurt had never happened.

 

That was...good and bad.

 

Good, because any moment of relief was welcome. Bad, because he didn't  _want_ to be his pre-Kurt self, necessarily. He still missed his with-Kurt self, even if Kurt was being painfully stubborn.

 

Blaine pushed the thought aside and helped Wes up from the ground, slapping him on the back and grinning widely, only a little forced. “Let's get down to business, shall we? If I'm going to Cincinnati, I need to demonstrate exactly how intimidated you should be.”

 

“Oh _really_.” Nick popped up to sling his arms around Blaine and Wes, rolling his head to drop a droll look on Blaine that managed to be both epic and withering. “I seem to remember you placed second behind me in Cincy last summer, but all right, buddy, let's see if you can play a better game than you talk this year.” 

 

“You're on.” Blaine bent down to pick up his board. “Last one to the top buys dinner Saturday. And not at Denny's, either – actual food this time, Wes.” Before Wes could retort, Blaine was off and running, swinging up the ladder and feeling the relief of taking a full breath without wanting to scream.

 

Two hours later, though, the strain of holding off the mental rainclouds was beginning to get to him. Blaine felt himself zoning out as he waited for a last run before he was going to beg Jeff to take him home – Quinn had bailed half an hour before when she got bored with the testosterone posturing. Not that Blaine minded that, really. Her determination that he have a fun day had actually had the effect of harshing any buzz he'd managed to manifest. Such relentless good cheer was off-putting.

 

Wes skidded up from his run and landed panting next to Blaine, wiping sweaty hair out of his face. “Hey.”

 

“Hey.” Blaine kept his eyes on Jeff as his friend tipped himself down towards the flat. “Listen, I didn't say it earlier, but...it's good to see you guys.”

 

“No prob. It's good seeing you too, outside of meets.” Wes flashed him a quick smile before going serious. “Jeff said you were having kind of a hard time this week.”

 

Blaine let a dark chuckle escape, shaking his head as he fiddled with a loose strip of grip tape on his deck. “Yeah, kind of.”

 

“Guy trouble?” Wes cocked an eyebrow at Blaine's glance of surprise. “Come on, man, you know we don't care. You want to talk about it?”

 

He was surprised further to find that he sort of did. He'd always been closer to Nick and Wes than he had to any of the guys he went to school with other than Jeff. Underneath the veneer of arrogant boasting they all possessed – hazard of the trade, after all - the Westerville skaters were decent guys. Maybe they could help. Definitely they couldn't really hurt or do worse than the Gas N Sip crowd. “Yeah...actually, I do.” Chewing on his lower lip for a minute, Blaine considered his options. “You guys have to go back to Westerville tonight?”

 

“Nope. If you've got floor space and some of your sister's cookies, we're all yours, man.” Wes winked and clapped him on the shoulder. “One last run?” Before Blaine could answer, Wes kicked up the end of his board and pushed off of the table.

 

“Hey!” Blaine yelped indignantly. “I've been waiting my turn!”

 

“You snooze you lose, Anderson,” came Wes' triumphant answer as he ground the coping on the other side of the half-pipe. Blaine rolled his eyes and waved at Puck and Mike as they took off. It looked to be an interesting night. He only hoped that he was right in his assumption that it would be more productive than the disastrous Gas N Sip chat.

 

* * *

“Okay, so, how come we're doing this without Quinn?” Nick leaned over and pulled his third slice of veggie pizza from the box. “I thought you two were joined at the hip. Plus she's mega-hot since she went all punk or whatever, I was looking forward to spending time with her.”

 

Blaine turned his laugh into a cough. Nick had always had a crush on Quinn, and it had only gotten worse since the pink hair and black lace came into the picture. “Yeah, I'm gonna not tell her you said that.”

 

“Aw, why?” Nick's face fell with his disappointment.

 

“Uh, because I like you and I want you to live a long and happy life, that's why.” Blaine sucked down the last of his water and reached for another bottle. “Anyway, she's not here because she's not Kurt's biggest fan right now.”

 

Jeff rolled onto his back and barked out a laugh. “That's an understatement, man.”

 

“Oh, but you're cool with the guy?” Wes eyeballed Jeff with no small amount of skepticism and got a shrug in return.

 

“Glass half full, man,” was all Jeff said before firing up the Nintendo and tossing Nick a controller.

 

That left Wes and Blaine staring at each other over the pizza boxes. “So,” Wes finally commented. “Kurt, huh?”

 

“Yeah.” Blaine picked a piece of pepperoni off of the pie in the box in front of him and nibbled on it. “Kurt.”

 

Wes waited, but Blaine didn't know what else to say. “Okay,” Wes went on slowly, watching him closely. “So why'd he dump you?”

 

“Why do I have to be the dumped one?” Blaine countered grumpily, picking up an entire slice of pizza and starting to eat it. “Maybe I did the dumping. I could dump someone.”

 

“Yeah, you could,” Wes agreed. “But Quinn apparently really, really dislikes the guy and you ate three-quarters of that pizza all by yourself.” He indicated the box between them, mostly empty now, and Blaine blinked at it in wonder. “I just...you know, I took a guess.”

 

“You can take a flying leap,” muttered Blaine around a mouthful of pizza crust. He set the rest of the slice down and took a long drink of water before relenting. After all, this _had_ been his idea, more or less. Might as well cooperate. “Yeah. I got dumped.”

 

Wes nodded. “Bummer,” he remarked, picking up his own slice and beginning to eat. Blaine waited for him to elaborate. And waited. And  _waited._ Wes simply kept chewing and said nothing more.

 

Blaine couldn't take it for long. “That's it? That's all you've got? 'Bummer'?”

 

“You didn't really give me a lot to go on,” Wes replied mildly, looking at Blaine as if he thought he was a little nuts. “So do you want a 'that sucks, bro' or were you looking for advice on getting him back?”

 

Oh. Options? Blaine hadn't expected options. He grabbed at the plastic container of shortbread cookies that Connie had left on the coffee table and considered while he nibbled. On the one hand, his pride, eight unreturned phone calls, and his aching heart were all telling him plainly that it was time to let go. The little voice in his head – it sounded suspiciously like Quinn – had been getting more insistent.

 

On the other hand, there was a minuscule but unshakable certainty in that aching heart, a notion that tucked itself deeply away – the impulse, the need, the  _conviction_ that he should try one more time, just one. It haunted his dreams, turning every good memory he had of Kurt – and there were so many – into a constantly looping film in bright Technicolor detail, reminding him every day and night that there was something he'd thought worth chasing there not so very long ago. The pull  _towards_ Kurt was much, much stronger than the flinching urge to back off. The flinch was simply a reaction to pain. The pull felt infinitely more inevitable and above all,  _right_ . 

 

Blaine had tried to reason with himself that a last attempt to win Kurt back would hurt worse and for longer if – when – it didn't work, but that did not seem to dissuade that tiny spark of hope. The only way, it seemed, to snuff it for good and get himself to move on would be to give in. “I want to get him back,” he decided. “Give it one last shot. But then I'm done.”

 

This caught Jeff's attention, and he paused the game to look over at them. “You're going to try? Really try?”

 

“Hey now,” Blaine protested, nettled. “I _was_ really trying before.”

 

“ _No_ , you were calling like a freak before and sometimes people call that creepy.” Jeff neatly caught the pillow that Blaine chucked at his head and threw it back. “I'm just sayin'.”

 

Nick turned around to chime in. “Chick movies always show the guy giving jewelry when he messes up,” he offered helpfully. He found himself almost immediately on the receiving end of three incredulous stares and raised his hands in defense. “I have three sisters. It's 'Pretty Woman' all the time in my house, man.”

 

“Yeah, well, Kurt's not a girl, and I didn't mess up,” Blaine snapped. “That's almost as stupid as Mike's suggestion that I give Kurt a custom board.”

 

Wes put a restraining hand on Blaine's shoulder. “Easy, fella,” he cautioned. “We're trying to help, it's gotta start somewhere.”

 

Taking a few deep, calming breaths, Blaine relaxed and nodded. “Okay. Yes. You're right. Sorry, Nick.”

 

Nick shrugged and set his controller down, scooting over to share in the box of cookies. “No big. So what happened, anyway?” Shoving a cookie into his mouth, he tilted his head and looked curious. “Maybe knowing will help us figure it out. Unless you don't want to talk about it, that's cool too.”

 

“Yeah, no, it's fine.” Blaine squeezed the bridge of his nose and inhaled deeply again to recompose himself. For good or bad, maybe this would be the last time he'd have to tell this story. Maybe this would be the retelling that made it hurt less. “Okay, so, we started seeing each other on the same day we all graduated...”

 

He tried to recount the story as fairly as he could, but a little bitterness must have seeped into the recitation near the end. When he was done, Wes sat back and whistled low. “Wow, Anderson. Are you  _sure_ you want him back? Because I wouldn't.”

 

“Quinn's angry riot grrl thing is kind of rubbing off on him,” Jeff assured them. “He does.”

 

Blaine chucked the pillow again. “I can answer questions for myself.”

 

“Sorry.” Jeff blushed, tucking the pillow under himself instead of putting it back in Blaine's possession. “Just trying to help. It's been a major bummer watching you lately.”

 

“Yeah, okay. Thanks, I guess.” Blaine shook his head. “So yeah. I want to try one more time – shut it, Jeff – to get Kurt back.”

 

Wes breathed out in a huff, staring at the ceiling and tapping his chin in deep thought. “Gifts are out and it sounds like you've way overdone the phone thing.” A frown creased his forehead. “You're not the flower type, I don't think you could get him over here to cook him dinner – man, I don't even know if you can cook.” He reached over and grabbed the box of cookies, finally speaking around a mouthful of shortbread. “You're going to have to  _do_ something. Something awesome and romantic but not creepy.”

 

“I'm doomed.” Blaine flopped over facedown into the couch. “Doomed.”

 

Nick had been deep in thought for a while, face twisted with it, but suddenly he brightened up all at once. “No, wait. I saw this thing in a movie once.” At the collective groan he raised his hands again. “Hear me out! This could work. It's not hard. You can do it tomorrow night and tell us how it went after I school you in Cincy.”

 

“Yeah, because I'm totally going to let that happen again.” Blaine rolled his eyes but nodded. “What's your idea?”

 

Leaning forward, Nick looked eager and hopeful all at once. “Were you guys together long enough to have, like, a song that was  _your_ song?”

 

* * *

“I'm sorry, Burt. I'm going to have to put your return to work off for a little longer.” Dr. Johansson, Burt's regular cardiologist, shook her head as she closed the chart. “The numbers and your general condition simply aren't where I'd like them to be yet in order for you to resume even light manual labor.”

 

“But I feel fine,” Burt protested. “I've been stuck at home for over two months now, Diane!”

 

“And you're clearly still susceptible to extreme temper and your cholesterol hasn't really budged. I really am sorry, Burt, but the answer's still no for now.” She patted him on the arm. “If you had a nice desk job or if I could trust you to stick to bookkeeping for the shop, I'd clear you to go back now. But we did go to high school together, so I know what I'm dealing with, here.”

 

“Fine,” he grumbled, pulling his shirt back on. “Great. Use our acquaintance against me, why don't you.”

 

Dr. Johansson smiled. “I will, if it'll keep you alive.” She pulled open the exam room door. “Sorry I can't get him our of your hair yet, Kurt, but I just don't want to take the chance. I want him around for our twentieth high school reunion in three years!” 

 

Kurt looked up from the ancient issue of  _Vogue_ he was paging through and smiled, with difficulty. It hadn't been easy to smile lately no matter how happy he was supposed to be at anything. “I completely understand, and it's not a problem,” he assured the doctor. “I'd rather have a live grumpy father than the alternative.”

 

“And I would agree with you.” She patted him on the shoulder. “Nice seeing you, Kurt. You must be just about ready to go to London. God, I am so proud of you. I can't believe it. Weren't you just in diapers yesterday?”

 

“I hope not, or else my father has a lot of explaining to do, letting me go out like that.” Kurt let his smile go a bit wider as he set the magazine aside and got to his feet. “Any instructions for home?”

 

She shrugged. “Just keep him from getting too stressed, remind him no manual labor, and keep to the diet. That should do it.”

 

“Heh. You make it sound so easy.” He winked at Dr. Johansson before turning to his father. “Okay, if you're ready, we can head home. I'll do the books before I start on dinner.”

 

“Why can't I do the books?” Burt grumbled, slipping his cap back on. “She didn't say I couldn't.”

 

Kurt blinked. “Well, sure, okay, if you want to, you can do it, and I'll just work on some stuff for school. No problem.” He hoped his father wasn't going to be a problem over the doctor's orders. The weeks of enforced rest had begun to wear on Burt's mood over the last few days already, and Dr. Johansson's edict wasn't likely to help things.

 

They got into Kurt's car – Kurt always feeling a pang at starting the damn thing without ever having driven in it with Blaine – and drove home, Burt never uttering a word at all, just staring angrily out the windows. Kurt didn't even bother trying to start a conversation, really. Burt was a pretty easygoing guy, but when he got irritated, it could be a fairly short trip to angry.

 

And given the results of the last time he'd gotten angry, Kurt wasn't willing to push his luck today.

 

When they got home, Burt checked the mail on the floor by the door. “Full load today,” he remarked sarcastically. “It okay for me to pick all this up, or are you scared that's too much work for me in my condition?”

 

“Dad...” Kurt sighed. “Please. I know you're mad. Let's just try to have a nice rest of the day. And of course you can pick up the mail.” He closed the door behind them while Burt stooped down to retrieve the day's haul, a few glossy magazines and some letters. Kurt moved into the study, taking a seat at their double sided desk and pulling out an omnibus of Tennessee Williams plays. His theater history professor had sent a lovely letter welcoming him to the BA program and asking that he write and be prepared to deliver a lecture on the playwright's body of work in their first week of classes. 

 

He had almost two months to go before this was even due, but putting things off was not how Kurt Hummel had become class Valedictorian and RADA student. Picking up a pen – another thing that shot him through the heart with sadness and guilt, and he knew it was ridiculous but what could he do? - he bent his head and began making notes on 'A Streetcar Named Desire'. Burt flopped down into his own desk chair and began going through the mail.

 

“Hm. Your tickets are here.” He flicked a long envelope across the desk at Kurt, who picked it up warily, as if handling a bomb.

 

“Wow.” Kurt choked back a lump of fear and concern as he reached for a letter opener and slit the envelope open. “Yep. Here they are. Plane tickets to London. Leaving in less than two months.”

 

Burt eyed him, pausing with his hands full of Sports Illustrated and utility bills. “Yup.”

 

Kurt set the tickets down on the desk, unable to do anything but look at them. Now it was truly real. Yes, he'd gotten the syllabus and letters from his professors, yes, he was working on homework months in advance, yes, he had half of his bedroom packed – but these, these two slender lengths of stiff paper, these were the things that drove home that he was  _leaving_ , that it was official, he would be living in London in less than two months. He had worked hard and sacrificed much to get to this point.

 

Which made what he was thinking now seem incredibly stupid, he knew, but Kurt couldn't stop looking at the tickets and thinking about the doctor's words that morning.  _I don't like the numbers_ , she'd said. Burt was chafing at the bit of his medical exile from the shop, and what if it had to keep dragging on and on and he wasn't home to try to help?

 

“What if I didn't go?”

 

Burt's face went red at the question, but he managed to stay generally calm. “That's the dumbest idea you've ever had. No.”

 

“I could defer. Just for a year.” Absently, Kurt twirled his pen around on the desktop while he watched his father with care. “Just to make sure you're back on your feet before I take off. It's not unreasonable.”

 

“Yes, it is.” Burt's face was closed off, and he obviously wasn't going to be swayed. Still, Kurt had to try.

 

“If I had a friend in this situation, I'd tell them to take the delay.” He kept watching his father, took his own deep breaths to try and stay calm. “I just want to know you're all right, Dad.”

 

Burt stood up, shoving his chair back and stomping out of the office. In the doorway, he spun around, jaw working as he sought the words he wanted. “I want things, too. I want to know you don't think of me as an invalid, Kurt. I want to know that you're not throwing away the opportunity of a lifetime because you can't stop thinkin' of me as broken or too pathetic to take care of myself.” His hand was clenched into a fist, thumping softly on the doorjamb in his irritation. “You've already given up too much. Stuff I didn't ask you to give up. I'm not havin' you turn your back on this like you did Blaine.”

 

That hurt. “I'm just trying -”

 

“This discussion is closed. You're going to England, end of story.” Burt spun on his heel and stalked into the living room. Kurt heard him throw himself down onto the couch, heard the crackle of the Sports Illustrated being opened. 

 

Angry now, Kurt looked down at his notes and his book. He couldn't think anymore, his thoughts scattered like autumn leaves. Slamming the book shut, he shoved it into a desk drawer and stomped upstairs to his room, flinging himself across his bed. A headache was beginning to throb behind his eyes, and tears were beginning to make their stinging, unwelcome presence known.

 

It had been unfair of his father to bring up Blaine. In the week since the split, Kurt had thought of nothing but Blaine and what he'd done and how he wished he hadn't but he couldn't see a way out of it...his thoughts were always whirling and centering on the boy he'd spent most of the summer touching and kissing and loving. Burt bringing that up had been him playing dirty, and Kurt resented it.

 

True to his word, that phone call from Blaine had been his last. Kurt hadn't heard another word from him in days. He hadn't seen him around town, had been avoiding all of the places they'd ever gone together. It was almost as if it had all never happened, or as if it had ended well and vanished without a trace.

 

Except that Kurt's heart still hurt. The card still sat in his bag with a presence all of its own, as if it radiated light and love and all the things that Kurt didn't deserve to ever have said to him. His own copy of the mixtape he'd made Blaine was in his car stereo, and every time it played he got a masochistic satisfaction from the electric zing of self-hatred that went through his veins.  
  
 _And you can't fight the tears that ain't coming_  
  
Worst of all, he heard _that_ song everywhere he went, it seemed, playing on every stereo in town at every shop he went to. He was imagining it now, hearing it play in his head.

 

 

_Or the moment of truth in your lies_

 

Wait.

 

_When everything feels like the movies_

 

That wasn't in his head. Kurt propped himself up on his elbows and looked around. Had he left a radio on somewhere? 

 

_Yeah you bleed just to know you're alive_

 

He shot to his feet. That was coming from outside. But why? Kurt scrambled to get to the window and peek carefully out, peering from behind his heavy dark green curtains.

 

Blaine.

 

_And I don't want the world to see me_

 

Standing there on the Hummels' front lawn with a stereo held over his head, blasting _that_ song, what Kurt thought of as _their_ song, Blaine had his chin in the air, a determined look on his face as he hoisted the boombox as high as he could get it to go. 

 

_'Cause I don't think that they'd understand_

 

Kurt's hand curled over his heart, resting there as if it had a magical ability to protect the fragile organ from this benevolent assault. In his distraction, he moved the curtain too much and it caught Blaine's attention.

 

Their eyes met.

 

_When everything's made to be broken I just want you to know who I am_

 

“I know who you are,” Kurt whispered to himself, brushing a stray tear from his cheek. “I know, Blaine. That's why I can't...”

 

On the lawn below, Blaine kept standing, kept his stubborn chin in the air, kept his eyes locked firmly on Kurt's.

 

The song played on.

 

_I don't want the world to see me, cause I don't think that they'd understand_

 

Footsteps on the stairs let him know that Burt was there, and Kurt turned to face his father. Burt leaned in the doorway and sighed. “Go on down, kiddo. Go to him.”

 

“I can't...” Kurt turned back to the window and looked down at Blaine. His eyes traced the line of every curl drooping over Blaine's brow, the curve of his calf muscles in his shorts, the lines of the veins in his arms as he kept the stereo aloft. He locked every memory away in his heart's mind, never wanting to forget what Blaine looked like in this moment, holding that radio as if it were his heart he were offering.

 

Which, as Kurt well knew, he was.

 

_When everything's made to be broken, I just want you to know who I am_

 

“Can't or won't?” Burt was still there, Kurt could feel his eyes boring holes into his back. He swallowed hard.

 

“Can't.”

 

_I just want you to know who I am_

 

“He obviously wants you to.” A shuffle indicated Burt shifting his weight from one foot to another. “And you want to.” 

 

_I just want you to know who I am_

 

“More than I could ever say.” Kurt ignored his father as he left, kept his eyes fixed on Blaine, still working to burn this memory indelibly into place. He fought the impulse to run downstairs and take him into his arms, kissing him and never stopping.

 

But somewhere deep inside of him, the core of ice around his resolve began to crack and splinter, and Kurt knew that it was only a matter of time before it fully broke.

 

Today would not be that day. But it was coming, he knew it as sure as he knew his own name. 

 

_I just want you to know who I am_

 

“I know who you are,” Kurt whispered again as the song ended, fingers clenched tight around the fabric of the draperies. “I know who you are, Blaine Anderson. You're it.” 

 

Down under the summer sun, Blaine didn't wait for Kurt to come to him. He simply turned away and got into his car with the radio, driving right off. The message was clear: Blaine had made his intentions known and now it was Kurt's turn to pick up the gauntlet and accept the challenge.

 

Kurt didn't know how he'd make things right, but he knew now he wouldn't rest until he'd managed it. “I know who you are,” he repeated one last time, watching Blaine disappear.

 

“You're who I love.”

 

 


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's not the why that is keeping Kurt from talking to Blaine, it's not knowing what to say or do to get it right.

“You should get out of the house.”

 

Kurt looked up at his father's words, pausing in the middle of scooping out a cantaloupe. Frowning, he set aside the melon baller in his hand and blinked, clearly taken by surprise. “Come again?”

 

“Get out.” Burt leaned against the counter and snitched a slice of kiwi out of the fruit salad his son was preparing for their breakfast. “Go to the mall, get lunch, whatever, just get out. Call Blaine.”

 

“I'm not calling Blaine,” Kurt replied testily, resuming his work on the melon. “I haven't figured out what I want to do to make everything up to him. And don't start.” He pointed the melon baller at his father and waved it menacingly. “He was out of town this weekend anyway, I remember he told me about some meet in Cincinnati weeks ago. Even if I knew what I wanted to do, I couldn't have reached him.”

 

Burt rolled his eyes. “You coulda gone to Cincinnati and surprised him. I don't know why you don't ask me for dating advice.”

 

“Maybe because you haven't been out on a date in ten years.” Arching an eyebrow, Kurt dodged the playful swat Burt aimed at his hair. “Well, excuse me for pointing out the obvious.”

 

“I'm just sayin', he stood out on our front lawn in front of God and everyone playing that song for you – and I really don't want to know what makes that song special, I can guess and I'm tryin' not to think too hard about it – surprising him in Cincinnati might have been nice. You could have brought flowers, I don't know.” Burt whisked another slice of kiwi out from under Kurt's nose. “Too late anyway. Get out of the house, Kurt. Call someone else, go do something. Maybe you could go to Cedar Point. Or Detroit, that's fun.”

 

Kurt slanted a sidelong glance at Burt, who contrived to look very innocent. “Okay, we've gone from 'the mall' to 'another state entirely.'” Shoving aside the gutted melon, he tugged over a plastic basket of strawberries and began slicing them into the fruit salad. “What do you want, Dad? What's your angle? And please, _don't_ tell me it's about the bathroom habits. That's a conversation I don't want to have again...and besides, no one needs the bathroom to themselves for five hours.”

 

“You don't know my habits,” Burt shot back, grinning at the horrified look on Kurt's face. “I didn't read any of the paper yesterday, that Sunday edition is enormous...oh, stop it, Kurt.” He sighed and clapped a hand down on his son's arm. “You've been cooped up in here since I came back home from the hospital, you don't leave unless it's to go run errands. I'm not gonna break, kid. You can go out and do something fun.”

 

“I'm fine.” Kurt kept slicing strawberries, not looking at his father. “It's no problem, everything is just fine, I don't need anything.”

 

“Mmhm. Yesterday you served me a salad with radishes cut into roses and the carrot shreds curled like Shirley Temple's hair. And you folded the napkin into a little swan or somethin'.” He patted Kurt's arm until his son met his eyes. “You used to be such a good kid.”

 

Kurt's mouth dropped open. “I'm a great kid!”

 

“Nah.” Burt picked a chunk of melon out of the salad and popped it into his mouth. “You haven't listened to me at all this summer, I had to ground you once, put a curfew on you, you don't take my advice...”

 

“That is not fair.” Kurt slapped down his knife and snatched up the bowl of fruit, carrying it to the dining room table. “It's not. One, that wasn't really grounding, two, your curfew was later than the one I was prepared to accept, three, I have given up a lot to help you -”

 

Burt nodded, sticking his hands in his pockets and grinning. “Uh huh. And I didn't ask you to. I actually told you not to. Told you to enjoy your summer. And then you went and messed it all up anyway. I think I need to ground you again.”

 

“This is preposterous!” Kurt was going around the kitchen gathering things for breakfast, slamming doors and rattling plates in his agitation. “Most parents would be thrilled – _thrilled_ – to have an almost adult child being as, as, as responsible as I am and trying to be helpful.”

 

“Don't get me wrong, kid, I'm grateful, but I keep tellin' you, I want you to _be a kid_.” He walked over to Kurt, removing a carton of yogurt from his hands and pulling him into a hug. “All I wanted you to do this summer was have fun. I shouldn't have to blackmail and bribe you into bein' _happy_ , Kurt.” Stepping back, he gripped Kurt's arms and smiled sadly. “Let go, kid. Get out. Go do something, please.”

 

Kurt visibly wavered, searching Burt's face to be sure. Burt kept his eyes steady and his face calm, working to not give anything away. It took all he had not to sigh in relief when Kurt finally nodded. “Okay...um...yeah. I could go for some shopping. I can even call a friend.”

 

“Good!” Burt beamed and released his son, turning to the breakfast table. “We can eat and you can go make that call and leave me in peace for the day. Tell ya what, you can even take my credit card.”

 

“Oh my God, you're dying.” Kurt looked horrified, making Burt turn around so as to not laugh in his face. “You're dying and you and Dr. Johansson have been lying to me.”

 

“I just want you to go shopping. I'll give you a spending limit and tell you you're limited to buying luggage, does that make you feel better?” With a roll of his eyes, Burt sat down and spooned out a bowl of fruit and yogurt. “Yeesh. Come sit down and eat. Anyone ever tell you that you're way too uptight?”

 

“Only you, every day of my life,” Kurt sighed, dropping into his own chair and serving himself his own serving of breakfast. Without any further ado, he fell to eating, obviously lost in thought.

 

Burt couldn't have been more pleased with how the discussion had worked out, though he did feel slightly guilty for lying to his only kid. He did have an agenda that he wasn't about to tell Kurt about, because Kurt was already too convinced that between the two of them, he was the parent, not Burt. He'd get all worked up and yell and try to actually forbid what Burt had planned, and forget that. It was not worth the hassle.

 

He escaped to the living room as soon as he could, not bringing up Kurt's going out again so as to not raise suspicion. Keeping his posture loose and casual, Burt lounged on the couch watching Oprah as he listened to Kurt tripping back and forth upstairs, singing along to his radio and calling someone he called 'Sugar' – that couldn't be right, had to be a nickname, but whatever. Burt was just glad Kurt was going to leave so he could do what he wanted. Which wasn't reading the Sunday paper a day late.

 

“Bye,” he called as Kurt hustled out the door two hours later with a hasty wave and a smile over his shoulder. As soon as Burt heard the CRX rev up and pull out of the driveway, he was on his feet and upstairs, throwing off his pajamas and pulling on a shop coverall. 

 

“Two months since I set foot in that shop, I know it's falling apart without me,” Burt muttered as he tugged on a baseball cap and checked out the front windows to make sure Kurt hadn't turned around because he forgot something. Nope, the coast was clear. Knowing he was going against doctor's orders gave Burt an extra little thrill as he ran out to his car and took off for the shop, feeling more alive than he had since the first shooting pains went through his chest all those weeks ago.

 

When he walked through the shop doors, he almost lost it laughing at his employees' incredulous looks. “Burt!” Mick, his head mech, was the first to recover. “Whattaya doin' here? Everything okay? Kurt said you were supposed to be restin' when he was in here the other day.”

 

“Yeah, well, I rested,” Burt shot back, grinning and slapping the backs of all the mechs he could reach. “I feel fine and I got a need to get my hands dirty. Anyone bring in anything good?”

 

Yeah, it felt good being back at the shop. He was starting to feel less guilty by the minute. What Diane Johansson and Kurt didn't know wouldn't hurt them.

 

* * *

“Thanks for wanting to meet up, Sugar.” Kurt thought about hugging the girl in gratitude, but decided against it when he realized she was wearing a leather jacket with spiked, not studded, epaulets. That had more than likely not been a mistake. “It's nice to see you.”

 

“I'm only doing this because you said you wanted to help get Blaine back.” She flounced into the Victoria's Secret and started flipping through racks of padded bras. “I don't think you deserve him, and I almost called my cousin Anthony to come cheer him up, but I'm pretty sure he still wants you...” Sugar heaved a sigh and rolled her eyes. “You so fucked up good, Hummel.”

 

“Tell me something I don't know,” he sighed, wincing away from a decapitated mannequin in a blue gingham push-up corset..

 

“You're an idiot,” she informed him, laughing at his outraged glare. “Hey, I'm pretty sure you didn't know that.”

 

Kurt picked up a thong that seemed little more than a string with high hopes and instantly wished he hadn't. “I actually had a pretty good idea of that, as a matter of fact,” he muttered, tossing it back down and desperately longing to wash his hands. Who knew how many people had picked over these undergarments with grubby, unsanitary paws? “Now, I don't know how to win Blaine back in a really spectacular way. You could help with  _that_ .”

 

“You gave him the damn _pen_.” Sugar snapped, throwing a particularly heavily padded D-cup at his head, forcing him to catch it or risk losing an eye. “The _pen_ , Kurt. You're an idiot. And you only called me, like, three hours ago, so I haven't even had time to figure something out that will make up for _that_.”

 

“I panicked!” He held his hands up, hoping to stave off another lingerie based assault. They were also getting much too close to the lotion and perfume display for his personal comfort. “I panicked, and I _told_ you the pen means a lot to me.”

 

“Yeah, and does he know that?” At Kurt's sudden downcast look, Sugar barked out a triumphant laugh. “Oh, wow, you fucked this even better than I thought.”

 

“Help meeeeeeeeee,” he pleaded, trying not to gawk too hard at a woman who had just emerged from the dressing room in a bright purple satin bra and was yelling for her friends to tell her if it evened out her boob problem. “Help me, I'll do anything, just come up with something brilliant. That doesn't involve Cosmo,” he added, remembering the results of her last helpful plan. Wait, why had he called Sugar again?

 

She beckoned over her shoulder at him, leading the way to the dressing rooms with a handful of bras clutched in her fingers. A salesgirl tried to stop her from making him follow her into one of the horrible pink stalls, but Sugar brushed her off with a wave of her hand. “I'm trying to help him get his boyfriend back, okay? He's coming in so I can talk at him.” With a snap of her gum, she grabbed Kurt by the wrist and dragged him in, pushing him down to sit on the tiny bench. “So, you gotta go big or go home,” she began, stripping off her jacket and throwing it at him.

 

“I don't actually think I have to be in here for this,” he tried to demur, dropping the jacket and covering his eyes with his hands when she tugged her t-shirt off and began to unclip her bra. It was one thing to deal with other actors wandering around half-naked backstage, but he really had no desire to see Sugar's breasts. “I can go outside. Let me go outside.”

 

“Oh, so you want me to shout about how you slept with your boyfriend and dumped him the next day? So everyone can hear?” A rattle of hangers let him know she was trying on one of the lacy little numbers she'd picked out. “I mean, we totally can if you want to do that, sure.”

 

Kurt knew when he was beaten. “No,” he mumbled, slumping back against the wall, keeping his fingers firmly pressed to his eyes. “It's fine. Just help.”

 

“That's what I thought.” The sound of a clasp being hooked and straps being snapped indicated that she was kind of covered again, for the moment. “Open up, tell me if this bra is cute on me, and I'll see what I can do.”

 

“I didn't sign up for this,” Kurt griped, peering at her through his fingers. “Red's not really your color.”

 

Sugar huffed at him. “Says you, my rack is awesome in any color. And yeah, you did. I'm helping you because Blaine's my boo and for whatever deluded reason he loves you and wants you back. I haven't, like,  _forgiven_ you, so suck it up and help me pick out a bra. And then buy me a cookie. A big one with the whipped cream in the middle.”

 

He rubbed a hand down one side of his face and sighed. “Fine. But just so you know, when you get around to helping me instead of tormenting me, I draw the line at anything that involves parades, climbing balconies, or a Jumbotron at some Philistinic sporting event.”

 

The look she cast back over her shoulder, complete with a hair toss and a scoff, was one that could have given Rachel Berry a run for her money. “Lame. Fine.” In one deft move she'd extricated herself from the red bra with no warning, making Kurt yelp and scramble to cover his eyes again. “Oh my God, Kurt, they're breasts, it's not like they're gonna start shooting poison gas at you...”

 

Over the next four hours, Kurt saw Sugar's breasts a grand total of five times, bought her two Double Decker cookies and vetoed 1) a stripping Gorillagram 2) a year's worth of extraordinarily kinky sex coupons and 3) singing anything at  _all_ from Michael Bolton's disturbingly prolific catalog of sap, dear  _God_ . “I...appreciate...your help,” he finally told her as they walked to the parking garage, trying to be as delicate and diplomatic as possible. “But I think I'm going to have to go in another direction, Sugar.”

 

“Kurt.” She put a hand on his arm as he turned to leave. “I'm fuckin' with you.”

 

He turned back, unable to keep himself from gaping at her. “What?”

 

“I'm fuckin' with you.” Sugar rolled her eyes and smirked at him. “I have been since we met up. You deserved it.” She chortled raucously. “Seriously, you think I'm that bad at romance?”

 

“Uh...” Kurt couldn't come up with another diplomatic response, so he went for honesty. “It's just that using your Cosmo tips actually scared him. And I don't want to scare him, I want to get it right.”

 

“Yeah. So. How did you get it right that night?” She tipped her head and watched him questioningly, a tiny smile on her lips. “You musta done, you got in his pants, so what'd you do?”

 

“I...” He rubbed at his temples trying to think. “I didn't do anything. We just talked. I told him...I told him the truth. That I was scared, but I wanted to be with him no matter what. That's not going to work this time, though, Sugar.”

 

She shrugged. “Why not?”

 

“Um, because 24 hours later, I dumped him?” Kurt couldn't believe he was having to spell it out like this. Or how much it hurt to remember just how badly he'd betrayed Blaine. “Maybe I shouldn't even try. He probably won't even listen to me. Why would he want to?” He turned once again to go, only to be stopped when Sugar snagged the back of his vest in her fist.

 

“He wants you back, Kurt,” she told him firmly, holding him in place. “Trust me on this one. I don't think you have to worry about him not listening. I think you have to worry about you chickening out.” She pulled him around to face her, a grim look on her face that abruptly let him know that Sugar Motta was more fiercely defensive of Blaine than he'd ever thought possible, and that she wouldn't mind causing Kurt a world of pain if he screwed up again. “Why do _you_ want him back? What if you just pull your indecisive crap on him again? You're going to England, what if you dump him long distance because you can't hang? I think before you decide what to do to _get_ him back, you need to be sure you _want_ him back.”

 

It took a moment for him to gather his scattered thoughts. “I want him back, Sugar. I do. I'm...not going to be able to convince you of that in a day, so please, oh God, please don't send people after me, but I want him back. I know I screwed up, okay?” Kurt tugged out of her grasp, resisting the urge to run an agitated hand through his hair. “I do know it. That's why I want to do something big to prove it.”

 

Sugar regarded him for a long, long time, inscrutable and assessing. It made him fight his body's increasing desire to run like hell. In the end, she finally nodded slowly. “Fine,” she said, stepping back. “Okay. That'll work. For now.”

 

Kurt heaved a sigh of relief. “So what do I do?”

 

“Same as you did last time. Be you. That's who he likes. For some reason.” She shrugged and stared at him like he was stupid. “Everything doesn't have to be a big thing, Hummel. It just has to be a real thing.”

 

“Seriously?” He eyed her skeptically.

 

“Seriously. That's it. Just...do your thing that makes you Kurt Hummel. I personally find it weird and a little scary, but you know, it ain't me you gotta impress.” Sugar grinned and stepped forward to stretch up and hug him, taking care to not impale his face with her jacket. “Just, you know, go get him. Or I really will call Cousin Anthony.”

 

“Don't you dare.” He squeezed her gently and let her go. “Thanks, Sugar.”

 

“Hey, any time. Unless you screw up again.” She began walking backwards towards her little red VW, pointing two fingers between her eyes and his. “Watching you, Hummel.”

 

“Understood,” he called, watching her get into her car and screech off in a cloud of dust and “Color Me Badd”. Shaking his head, he headed home himself, mulling over her words and wondering if it really could be that simple. 

 

His guard was up immediately when he pulled into the driveway at the house and saw that his father's car was gone. Kurt frowned. “I knew you had a plan,” he muttered, climbing out of the CRX and heading for the door. Bursting into the house as quickly as he could, he scanned the front table for a note. Nothing. He moved into the kitchen and checked the refrigerator. None there either. Of course.

 

Panic paralyzed his chest, making it difficult for him to breathe. Kurt tried to calm down, tried to make his racing heart resume activity at a normal speed. “Maybe he went to the store,” he whispered, half hopefully, half pleadingly as he glanced over their shared desk in the office. 

 

But he knew better, really.

 

The red light of a new message on the answering machine caught his eye, blinking, it seemed, almost malevolently at him. Kurt paced slowly over to the table to check it, a wretched sense of foreboding weighing down his shoulders with every step. Pressing the button made Connie Anderson's too-calm voice flood the air of the room and cut off his breath.

 

“Hello, Kurt, it's Connie at Lima General.” This was Connie-the-Nurse, not Connie-Blaine's-Sister. Kurt's heart sank. “I need you to come down here as soon as you hear this message, please. Drive carefully, but be quick. I'll meet you here.” There was a click and a dial tone while Kurt stood stock still, staring at the machine in horror.

 

What had his father done?

 

* * *

Connie was waiting by the ER doors for Kurt when he ran in, and she deftly caught him by the arm when he raced by. “Whoa there, partner,” she drawled, dragging him to a halt. “Chill.”

 

“Where's my dad? What's wrong with him? Is he okay?” Kurt couldn't stop babbling in his panic, the same panic that got him to Lima General through more red lights than he cared to remember. At least no cops had seen him. “Please, Connie.”

 

“You know I have to let Dr. Lopez tell you, Kurt.” She was gentle but firm as she steered him to one of the chairs and forced him to sit down. “He's alive. Breathe for me. I'll page Dr. Lopez and come back to sit with you, okay?”

 

He nodded and watched her walk over to the nurses' station to pick up the phone. It felt like he'd had ten cups of coffee in the last fifteen minutes, he was so amped up on adrenaline and fear. Looking at his hands, Kurt could see he was trembling like a leaf.

 

Smaller hands covered his, stilling the tremor. Kurt looked up into Connie's warm, worried hazel eyes. “Can't you tell me  _something_ ?” he begged. “Where was he brought in from?”

 

“I can't, Kurt. I really, really can't. It has to be the doctor.” She bit her lip as she gazed at him, apology in her eyes. “Honestly, Dr. Lopez should be here any moment. He'll tell you everything.”

 

“You told me last time we were here that he was stable, you didn't say that this time,” he fretted, willing his knees to stop jumping as he shook with nerves. “You just said he was alive.”

 

“He _is_ alive.” Connie took the seat next to him, keeping her hands firmly on his. “Kurt, I wouldn't lie to you about that. He _is_ alive.”

 

“But you can't say he's stable.” It was a statement, not a question, and his heart fell as she looked away. He pulled his hands away and rubbed at his face, trying to redirect his thoughts from the morbid. “He must have gone to the shop. His car wasn't at the house. God, why would he have gone to the shop?”

 

“Breathe, Kurt. Please. Don't work yourself up any more. Come on, look at me.” She reached up and turned his face so that they made eye contact. “Come on, Kurt. In, out. In, out. Don't make me get you a bed in with your dad. In, out.”

 

Gradually, he came down from his panic and began to think again. “I should call Aunt Sarah.”

 

“Why don't you wait until you have more news to give her?” Connie patted his arm and pointed down the hallway. “Look, here comes Dr. Lopez now. I'll give you -”

 

“No.” Kurt grabbed at her arm as she began to stand up, seized her hand and held tight. “Stay. Please. Don't leave me, Connie.”

 

“Okay. I won't.” She sat back down and put an arm around his shoulders as he nervously watched the approaching cardiologist.

 

“Kurt.” Dr. Lopez was sober as he walked up, chart in hand. “Thank you for coming so quickly.”

 

Kurt bolted up to his feet, dragging Connie with him. “What's wrong? Why was he brought in? Where was he? Is he okay?”

 

“He was brought in from the tire shop, I'm afraid.” Dr. Lopez opened the chart and glanced at it, frowning in disapproval. “Now, I've spoken with Diane Johansson and she told me that she had strictly forbidden a return to work at this time. Do you know why he was there?”

 

“No. I don't.” Kurt shook his head, gripping Connie's hand more tightly. “He waited until I left the house to go, I have no idea what he was thinking.”

 

The cardiologist nodded. “Okay. Well, apparently he was working on a tire change when he had a heart attack. That was bad enough in itself, but he went down pretty hard before anyone knew what was happening and he hit his head. There's bruising and...” He paused, taking a deep breath before going on. “He appears to be in a coma, Kurt. I'm sorry.”

 

The world felt as if it were spinning around him, and only Connie's grip on his hand kept Kurt anchored. “Do you know...is he going to...”

 

“Right now things look...” The doctor hesitated, clearly unhappy. “We're monitoring him, and we'll do all we can, Kurt. I'm sorry I don't have better news for you.” Dr. Lopez patted him on the arm in sympathy and sighed. “I can't let you back in the ICU now, either, not at the moment. Probably not today, if I am being honest.”

 

“Oh, my God.” Kurt fell back into his chair, stunned. “I can't see him? I can't stay with him?”

 

“I'm sorry.” And Dr. Lopez did look regretful as he repeated his apology. “I'm going back to check on him now. If anything changes, we can call you at home.”

 

Kurt looked between doctor and nurse, feeling increasingly frantic again. “Wait, I can't even stay out here?”

 

“I wouldn't recommend it, honey.” Connie sat back down and hugged him. “You heard him, they probably won't even let you back there today. You might as well go home, you won't be comfortable here. Maybe you can call your aunt now? She can come stay with you?”

 

“No, she's got her summer job, I can call her but she can't stay with me.” He bounced up and began to pace the room, twisting his fingers. “It's fine. It's _fine_. I don't need anyone to stay with me. This is all fine. It's going to be fine. I don't even need to go home, I will be _just fine_ here. The chairs are really comfortable.”

 

He didn't see Connie cast a significant look at Dr. Lopez, and didn't even really register the cardiologist nodding and walking back to the ICU. He paced the floor, calculating how long he'd be willing to wear the same clothes and whether he could manage a shower somewhere. Would the Prell 2 in 1 shampoo stuff be able to do a whole lot of damage to his hair if he only used it once? He was pretty sure that was all the gift shop sold.

 

Connie stepped in front of him and arrested his repetitive motion by the simple expedient of putting her hands up so that he ran right into her. The shock jolted him out of his circular thoughts, making him shake his head to try and get back to some semblance of reason. “What?” he asked, rather stupidly.

 

“You cannot stay here. I will not let you,” she informed him, her tone brooking no argument. “And the more you say 'fine' the less I feel like you actually are, in fact, fine. I don't want you alone tonight.”

 

Kurt wasn't following. “So...do... _you_ want to stay with me?” He felt a lot slower than usual. It must be the shock. But why would Connie want to stay with him? She probably didn't really like him, he realized, and the thought made him unaccountably sad.

 

“Well, I would, but no, I was actually thinking you could ask my brother.” She tipped her head to the side and looked up at him, waiting for his response.

 

He was even more confused now. “Blaine?”

 

“No, my other little brother that up till now you've never met. Of course Blaine.” Connie shook her head. “He'd want to, Kurt.”

 

“But why would you suggest it? Why would you want me anywhere near him?” Wretchedly, Kurt gave in to the desire to pull at his hair and tried to understand. “I mean, I was going to go see him. Soon. Really. But I can't go now and _why would you want me to_ , don't you want to kill me?”

 

“Wow. Again, breathe.” She grabbed his arms and held him in place. “No, I do not want to kill you. I did want to smack you around a little, but...you know, I kind of understand why you did what you did. I think it's dumb and I am quite sure I am not the only one, but I get it.”

 

He shook his head to clear it. “You do?”

 

“Yeah. Your dad's a heart patient and you're leaving for England, and things are going wrong and you think he should be your priority. That's noble. Stupidly noble, but noble all the same.” Connie looked up at him, keeping her eyes on his and choosing her words carefully. “I know you didn't do it because you wanted to hurt my brother. Blaine knows that, too. That's why he still wants you back. Trust me, if he thought for one second you didn't feel a even a little spark still, he wouldn't have gone to your house with that radio last week.”

 

“You know about that?” The memory made Kurt smile even as it twisted the knife in his heart.

 

“Please. I know everything.” She gently socked him in the arm with her fist and gave him a half-grin. “I saw you and Blaine together a hundred times over the summer. It was obvious how you felt about him then, and it's not something you would set aside lightly. If at all. If you still care about him and you really want him back, you have the chance right now to do it, and you might as well take it.”

 

“But my dad...” He trailed off, uncertain.

 

“Is obviously going to do what he wants, when he wants, and clearly no amount of watching over by you is going to change him. Kurt...” Connie took a deep breath. “You can't let this rule your life. Maybe this is your sign to let go a little. You gave up a lot and this...it still happened. Okay?” Her eyes searched his, wanting him to understand. “Is that making sense?”

 

Kurt nodded, slowly. “It...yes...but...Connie, I can't go to Blaine now. He's just going to think it's because of my dad.”

 

“Well, he won't be wrong.” She shrugged. “But he knows you, Kurt. He'll know that's not the only reason. _You_ know he's not stupid. And you have got to know by now how deep his feelings for you run. He will see beneath the surface.”

 

“I'm going to England soon.” It was the last roadblock, and even then he knew it wasn't much of one.

 

“So you go _now_ and you maximize every second you have and stop worrying. You can't control everything, Kurt, and if you keep trying you're just going to go nuts. Let go.” Her eyes never left his, her hand still a comforting weight on his arm. “This thing you have with my brother is a good thing. A lot of people never get a first crack at it, let alone the second and third chance you're getting. I would know.” She slipped her hand down and took his, holding it tight. “Embrace this chance. Take a breath and let it happen.”

 

Kurt closed his eyes and breathed in, out, slow and even. When he blinked again, Connie was still there. “You're sure he'd take me back?”

 

“You know he would.” Connie pulled him towards the ER doors. “He's at the skate park. _Go,_ Kurt.”

 

He couldn't get to his car fast enough.

 

* * *

“So is Nick speaking to you yet?” Jeff adjusted the strap on his helmet as he and Blaine waited at the top of the half-pipe for Mike to finish his run. Blaine scoffed, taking off his own helmet to shake out the sweat in his curls.

 

“Please, dude, it's only been two days since I spanked his ass in Cincy, just like I told him I would.” Blaine stretched his arms over his head, grinning. “I'll give him a few more days to come to terms with it.”

 

“Sounds like a plan.” Jeff clapped him on the back. “You look like you're doing better, after the meet and all. You're...smiling. _Are_ you better? Has Kurt called?”

 

Blaine thought about it, squinting at the blue summer sky. “No, Kurt hasn't called, but...yeah, I'm better, kind of,” he replied slowly, considering. “I mean, right now I'm better. Today. I'm not dumb enough to think a week or two is enough time to get over it but...today, I'm better. And maybe Kurt will come back around or maybe he won't, but today I'm okay with whatever happens.”

 

He was surprised to find that he really did mean it. It still felt a little like biting down on a tooth with an exposed nerve, but...less. A little. Enough that he felt okay to function. Enough that he wasn't cursing the hope that Kurt would come back, not today at least. 

 

Sometimes Blaine thought that hope would never die. And he didn't quite want it to. As much as it pained him to admit it, he'd  _still_ take Kurt back. He still believed that Kurt loved him, even if he'd never said it. Blaine was even ready to forgive the pen thing. He thought he understood where Kurt had been coming from with it. Maybe.

 

Well. No. No, that still baffled him.

 

This wasn't getting him anywhere. He shook his head and tuned back into Jeff. “Good,” his friend was saying with a cheery nod, leaning in for a backslapper of a hug. “It's good. I hope he comes back around, obviously, but, you know, good that you're better, at least.”

 

“Right now it's good to just not be curled up on the couch.” Blaine hugged Jeff back. “It is _also_ good to know I can win meets despite putting on ten pounds of sad pizza eating weight in two weeks, Jesus.”

 

“I think that's what really pissed Nick off, yeah,” Jeff agreed with a laugh. “I still wish you had been able to see his face when you pulled off that frontside rock and roll.”

 

“Wes said that Nick was particularly harsh about the size of my ass on that one, so I must have been pretty awesome.” Grinning, Blaine stuck out his tongue in a noisy raspberry and made Jeff laugh again. “Well, shit, I know I was, I went home with the trophy and the cash.” With a wink, he stepped back, cupping his hands around his mouth to yell at Mike. “Come on, Chang, other people want to practice, too!”

 

Mike gave a high sign to indicate he'd heard Blaine and executed a perfect 720 before sliding back down and across the pipe to land back on the table with them. “Sorry, man. I was in the zone.”

 

“No problem. I just want to get in one last try at making my handstand stall a little longer before I have to go home.” Blaine grinned and scooted his board over the lip of the table, prepping to drop in. He glanced down at Quinn, sitting on the hood of her car scribbling in her notebook. “Quincy! Last run for me and Jeff, then you want to go to Dairy Queen?”

 

She waved up and nodded. “Yeah, absolutely.”

 

“Okay.” He looked over at Jeff and gave him a thumbs up. “Good?”

 

“Good.” Jeff nodded. “I'll go right after you.”

 

“Your helmet, dude.” Mike picked it up from where it lay on the plywood and handed it over. Blaine shuddered.

 

“Yikes. Thanks, man. That could have been a disaster.” Shaking his head once more to get more sweat off, Blaine had the helmet positioned over his head when, out of nowhere, he heard it. The voice he had never really thought he'd hear again any time soon.

 

“Blaine?”

 

The sound of Kurt saying his name, so welcome but so unexpected, startled Blaine. With a rush of fear, he felt his skateboard slip under his feet as he jumped in surprise, felt his helmet fall from his hands as he flailed in vain to try and stay atop the table. His board shot out from under him as he slid down the side of the pipe, his back and then his head thumping hard against the sturdy wood surface.

 

Everything went black as he tumbled down the vert into the flat.

 

* * *

“Is he okay?”

 

Blaine blinked, letting his eyes adjust to the sun being directly above his face, instead of behind his head. His head, which hurt like a  _motherfucker_ right at this moment. He winced at it, and his eyes came slowly into focus to see Kurt, who had asked the question, hovering anxiously over him. “Hurts,” he mumbled, his tongue feeling thick. “Ow.”

 

“Dude, stay still.” Jeff was just as anxious as Kurt, kneeling down right next to him. “Do you want us to call an ambulance or take you to the hospital?”

 

“No...ugh...” Blaine raised a hand to cover his eyes. “Sun hurts. Everything hurts. Why'm I hurt?”

 

Jeff exchanged a worried look with Kurt before replying. “You slipped, man. Fell right down the pipe and scared the shit out of all of us. You didn't have your helmet back on, so you hit your head and it knocked you out.” He chewed on his lower lip. “You might have a concussion. We should take you to Lima General.”

 

“No. Said no.” Peeking through his fingers, his eyes zeroed in on the person he wanted most in the world to see. “Kurt?”

 

“I'm here.” Kurt grabbed his free hand gently. “Blaine, I am so sorry. For everything, but right now, especially this. Ouch! Quinn!”

 

She had punched him right in the arm. “You don't yell at a skater on the edge of the table, you idiot! What the fuck were you thinking? You could have killed him!”

 

“Leave 'im 'lone, Quincy,” Blaine mumbled. His ankle was throbbing, but when he twitched it experimentally, it didn't seem broken. It wasn't feeling particularly healthy, but it wasn't broken. Against everyone's protests, he slowly pushed himself to sitting, closing his eyes as the world spun. “He didn't know.”

 

“Common sense,” she muttered, but let up and confined herself to glaring at Kurt before getting to her feet and stomping off back to her car.

 

Jeff reached out a cautious hand. “Hospital?”

 

“No.” Blaine said again. He shook his head, but very slowly and carefully so as to not make the pain worse. His eyes swam a little. “Well, maybe. I don't know. Just...go with Quinn for now. You and Mike. I want to talk to Kurt.” A groan from Kurt made him turn slowly so he could see him better. “Kurt. Why...”

 

“Well, ironically,” Kurt mumbled, sniffling a little as Jeff and Mike walked away, “I was just coming from the hospital.”

 

Blaine frowned. “Huh? Are you okay?”

 

“Yes! Yes, I'm fine...obviously. I'm here.” Sitting back on his heels, Kurt wrapped his arms around himself. “It's my dad. Again. But worse. I can't...he...”

 

“Spit it out,” Blaine sighed. His head hurt too much to follow along with Kurt's ramblings, though he desperately wanted to know what was going on. 

 

“He went to work, like an idiot, and he had a heart attack, and he hit his head too and now he's in a coma.” The words tumbled out of Kurt in a rush. “And I wouldn't have come Blaine, not today I really wouldn't have, but I intended to come to you some time because I was an idiot and I _know_ that. Except then this happened, and they won't let me stay in the ER until it's okay for me to see him, and your sister said I should just go ahead and come talk to you now and oh, God, Connie is so going to kill me, I was supposed to talk to you not injure you and -”

 

“Too much,” groaned Blaine, putting his hand back over his eyes. “Slow down. Make sense. Please.” Somewhere in there it sounded like his inextinguishable hope was going to be fulfilled – but he didn't dare believe it. Not yet.

 

He heard Kurt take a deep breath, then another, and another before he spoke again. “My father is in the hospital again,” he said simply, directly, and with only a little distress straining his voice. “He's in a coma. And...and I can't do this alone, Blaine. I shouldn't have even tried. It was all going to happen no matter what I did or what I gave up.”

 

“Right...” Blaine peered through his fingers, squinting to get a good look at Kurt's earnest, worried face through a gray haze of head pain. A part of him was wondering if he was still blacked out and this was a concussion dream. Did those even exist? “So what does that mean? I don't, I'm not...Kurt, I hit my _head_ , please, spell it out.”

 

“It means I want to try again. If you do.” Kurt's hand trembled a little as it came to rest on Blaine's arm. His eyes were wide and bright and full of hope and fear. “It's horrible timing, I know, but I need you so much right now. I was an idiot. Completely. I was wrong to break up with you, and _so_ wrong doing it the way I did. And I am so, so sorry for all of it.” He was perched warily, as if ready to take flight while he waited for Blaine's response. Another heavy breath prefaced his next words. “Blaine, please. I love you.”

 

It hurt so much to think. All he could understand was that Kurt was here and  _wanted_ to be here, wanted to talk to him. Needed him. Wait. “...did you just say you loved me?”

 

“Yes.” Shuffling forward, Kurt tried to wrap his arms around him, only to stop when Blaine pushed him back – feebly, but enough to get the message across. Kurt swallowed, nodded, and kept talking. “I love you. So, so much. I think since the day after Puck's party. I love you and I need you and...if I hurt you again, I'll die.”

 

“Hurt me again?” Blaine let out a short bark of slightly bitter laughter. He still wasn't sure he wasn't hallucinating all of this. “Not a chance. You have totally exhausted your quota of breakups. You're not allowed to do it again.”

 

“Absolutely. Yes, honestly, anything you want, I'm yours,” Kurt vowed, tangling his fingers together and holding them under his chin. “Anything.”

 

“It's...” He couldn't believe he was about to say it. “It's not that easy,” Blaine blurted. “You gave me a _pen_.”

 

Kurt looked down. “I know. I...I'm not asking you to forgive me. Just to give me a chance to earn that. To...to deserve you. I just want to try again, Blaine. God, my timing is horrible on this, I wanted the time to be right. But the time is never right. When did I become a person who doesn't get things right?”

 

His guilt and distress were almost a living presence between them. Blaine reached over and touched Kurt's knee. “Hey,” he murmured softly. “I'm not saying no. Just...Kurt. Did you mean it when you said you needed me? Or...” Stopping to take a breath, he swallowed back an acid lump in his throat. “Did you just need someone? No. Wait. Forget I asked.” He rubbed at his head, sighing. “I don't care.”

 

“Well, _I_ care. It's _you_ , Blaine. Always you.” Kurt looked up, expression firm with determination. “I know I have to prove it. I want to prove it. I just need the opportunity.”

 

Blaine considered it for a long time, never taking his eyes off of Kurt's face. As much as he'd wanted exactly this moment, he'd never anticipated how terrifying it would be to get it. Was surprised at how much he was resisting simply saying  _Yes, I'll do it, I want you back_ . 

 

But if he didn't take this chance, what was the point of the last string of painful days of fighting for it?

 

Finally, Blaine inched over and gently pulled Kurt's hands apart so that he could wrap his own arms around his waist. Leaning his head against Kurt's chest, he closed his eyes and sighed contentedly. “Say it again.”

 

Kurt's voice was puzzled. “Say what?”

 

“Tell me you love me.”

 

“I love you.” Kurt's arms came around to hold him close, his hands stroking up and down Blaine's back. “I love you, I love you...how many times do I have to say it?”

 

Blaine felt his lips turn up in a smile. This was actually happening. He was scared to death but wanted it so, so much. “One more time would be nice.”

 

“I love you.”

 

“Okay.” He nodded, lapsing into silence, listening to Kurt's heartbeat. The summer sun warmed their backs and heads, melted Blaine into a lazy puddle of cautious happiness. 

 

“What does okay mean?” Kurt's voice over his head was a confused whisper threaded with hope. “Is it...”

 

Blaine's smile grew wider. “It means you get a chance. I'll give you your chance.”

 

Kurt's arms around him were abruptly tighter, his sigh of relief rocking them both. “I'll do anything.  _Anything_ .”

 

“And I'll let you. You can start by taking me home.” He nudged Kurt up until the other boy was standing, then held his arms up and let himself be tugged up to his own feet. “I think it's your turn to nurse _me_ back to health.”

 

 

 

 

 

 


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The boys discover it is possible to be both monumentally happy and epically frustrated all at once.

“I will not freak out, I will not freak out, I will not freak out,” Kurt chanted from his crosslegged seat in the living room, eyes closed against the shine of the sunbeam in which he sat. “I will not freak out, I will not -”

 

“I think I like 'om' better,” Blaine commented as he slid up behind Kurt, wrapping arms and legs around him like a cuddly octopus. “Simpler. More peaceful.”

 

Kurt opened his eyes. “I didn't hear you come in. Hi.”

 

“Hi, yourself.” Blaine squeezed Kurt affectionately, resting his chin on his shoulder. “What are you not freaking out about?”

 

“Nothing. Everything.” Kurt sighed and leaned back into the embrace. “My dad's still not awake after two weeks. I leave for England in a month. My room is half-packed at best. I still have two essays to finish and a recitation to memorize.” _I haven't totally figured out how to fix things with you_ , he added silently, stifling another sigh.

 

Next to his father's condition, this is what bothered him the most – it bothered him more, in some ways, because Burt being in a coma was something he couldn't do anything about. Fixing things with Blaine, really fixing them, was something that should be within his control, and yet Kurt was still flailing. It had been fourteen days since he'd made his inarticulate apologies and promises, and in that time he had gotten no closer to figuring out what to do than he had been on the day that he'd made them. He'd thought he'd at least have an idea, however vague...but no.

 

Kurt was not used to not having answers. He found the uncharted territory to be disconcerting and weird to an uncomfortable degree. But looking at Blaine, he couldn't help but be sure that it would all be worth it if he could navigate it well enough to work out how to repair the damage he'd caused. 

 

They really were sort of fixed. A little. They'd fallen right back into spending every free moment they had together, not that there were many of those during the day. Blaine was working at the skate shop, of course, and Kurt spent hours at his father's hospital bedside.

 

That left them with nights - not that they minded – making dinner together, watching movies, and falling asleep wrapped in each other's arms. Usually at Blaine's, because they'd discovered that staying at Kurt's empty house was too much of a dangerous temptation that they weren't ready to give into, not yet. 

 

They'd tried. It had ended with both of them breathless and panicked, whispering hushed apologies until they fell asleep, a classic case of too much, too soon. So they stayed on Connie's couch, sometimes folding it out into a bed, sometimes just sleeping slumped against each other, sitting up.

 

At this point, even kissing was off the table. They both felt the magnetic pull towards each other, both wanted it, but one always ended up pulling away. Kurt, because he was terrified of breaking Blaine, and Blaine as if he feared being broken. Scant weeks before, they'd hardly been able to function in the same space without kissing; now they were too wary of doing anything more than cuddling.

 

Not that cuddling wasn't good; obviously it was. It was the best time of Kurt's day, they way they fit into and around each other like puzzle pieces. But it also functioned as a reminder of just how badly he'd messed things up, a blinking neon sign that said  _these are your boundaries_ . They were more than platonic, yet so, so far less than ideal...and it was entirely his fault. Blaine didn't trust him and Kurt couldn't blame him.

 

If he was being honest, he didn't trust himself, either. Not after what he'd done.

 

Kurt took a deep breath and sat up straighter, tuning back into what Blaine was saying. “Maybe you can get some packing done tonight,” Blaine was suggesting while Kurt shook himself out of his unhappy thoughts.

 

He frowned. “We're not going to your place?” The thought made Kurt pout at Blaine with not very mock disappointment.

 

“Sorry,” was Blaine's apologetic reply, accompanied with another squeeze. “Jeff's leaving to get settled at Berkeley next week. We're having a sleepover at Quinn's. So...” He snuggled closer. “I thought we could have lunch before you go back to the hospital?”

 

Tilting his head back and forth, Kurt pretended to consider, humming in thought. “Oh, all right, I  _suppose_ ,” he teased, twisting around to face Blaine fully. “As long as you promise to make it up to me...later...” 

 

The teasing died in his throat as their eyes met, an electric charge seeming to fill the air around them. Kurt felt his heart and breath speed up as he watched Blaine's hand slowly come up, trembling, hesitating in the air for a moment before cupping Kurt's cheek and pulling him gently forward. Their noses touched, bumped, slid past each other - 

 

With a defeated sigh, Blaine slumped down, pressing his forehead against Kurt's before their lips could do more than ghost past each other. “Damn it.”

 

“It's fine, Blaine, please.” Kurt swallowed and closed his eyes, breathing in deep through his nose. He knotted his fingers in the soft, worn fabric of Blaine's t-shirt. “You shouldn't keep forcing yourself to try.”

 

“It wasn't forcing. I wanted to,” came Blaine's frustrated protest. “I wanted to...I can't, I'm sorry.”

 

Kurt shook his head. “No. Never,” he breathed in a vehement whisper. “You have  _nothing_ to apologize for, nothing at all, okay? This entire mess is completely my fault and you. Are. Amazing,” he finished, leaning back to look Blaine in the eyes. “Amazing.”

 

“I just need...” Blaine sighed. “Time. I need time. More time.”

 

“I know, Blaine. I do.” Kurt got to his feet, pulling Blaine up after him. “I told you, whatever it takes, anything you want – it's yours.”

 

The sweetly sad smile on Blaine's face made Kurt's heart ache. The problem, he reflected as they went downstairs to make lunch, was that what Blaine needed most was something that wasn't Kurt's to give, and it was slipping through his fingers like falling rain.

 

* * *

Burt's hospital room was quiet, the ventilator producing a weirdly soothing sound that wasn't entirely unlike a white noise machine. Kurt had come to find it an eminently peaceful place to study, if slightly...morbid, perhaps.

 

“You've got to wake up soon,” he informed his father's comatose form. “It's having a detrimental effect on my grasp of normality.” 

 

No response from Burt, of course. Not a finger twitch or wiggle of an eyelash. Kurt shifted his chair closer and set his book aside, reaching to grab his father's hand. “Please, Dad,” he pleaded, blinking back tears of worry. “I...I need you, now. For once I could actually use any advice you have on dating.” He had to pause to pull a tissue out of the box on the nightstand. “I got back together with Blaine. Just like you wanted. It's just...I really messed up. But you know that. I need help to fix it.”

 

His father lay there, unable to give him a hug or make an inappropriate joke. Kurt sucked in a deep breath, trying to settle his nerves. “Please,” he said again, gripping Burt's hand more tightly. “I can't go to England with you like this. I need to know you'll be all right. I won't make stupid decisions anymore if you just wake up...”

 

“He'll wake up when he's good and ready, and you know it.” Sarah's voice from the doorway was tired, but good humored. She pushed away from the doorjamb and moved to lean down, hugging Kurt tight. “The stubborn thing _is_ sort of a Hummel family trait.”

 

“I know.” He smiled at his aunt and got up to offer her the chair, scooping up his book. “I just...”

 

“Yeah.” She gave him another hug before situating herself. “Whatcha readin'?”

 

Kurt handed the book over. “John Keats. Recitation due the first day of class. Everyone will do monologues, so...poetry.”

 

“Good choice.” Flipping through the pages, she paused where he'd stuck his bookmark. “ _Bright Star_?”

 

He nodded. “It's my favorite, not too long.  _La Belle Dame Sans Merci_ might have been overdoing it.”

 

“Maybe a little.” Sarah gave the book back and shifted around so she could face him. “You've got a lot going on, kiddo. Are you holding up?”

 

Curling up in the other chair, Kurt felt his lips twitch into a rueful smile. “I like how you didn't ask  _how_ I was holding up, only  _if_ I was.” He shrugged. “Yes. I prefer it this way, keeping busy lets me not freak out so much. Life is better when I am not freaking out.”

 

“Wanna go to dinner with your old aunt, maybe talk about it a little?” She tilted her head to look at him inquiringly. “James is out of town at a conference, so I'm free if you are. Bring that adorable boyfriend of yours, I haven't seen him since the dinner party.” Abruptly, she frowned. “Wait. He _is_ your boyfriend, right? Because he should be.”

 

“Yes, he is,” Kurt replied slowly, picking at a stray price tag on his paperback. “Sadly, he's with his best friends tonight. They're having a little thing before one of them leaves for college. I am free, though, and actually...I could use some advice about him.”

 

At this, Sarah looked concerned. “Oh oh. Trouble in paradise?”

 

Kurt puffed out a breath, feeling it whistle through his swept-up bangs. “Yes and no and...let's start at the beginning, with the first of my incredible bumbling missteps...”

 

He talked. And talked, and  _talked_ . Not one embarrassing detail was spared as his aunt listened, growing more wide-eyed and slack-jawed with astonishment in every moment. When the ICU nurse – Finn's mom, Kurt vaguely recalled – kicked them out for the night, they adjourned to Breadstix, and Kurt kept talking. They made their way through soup, salad, a bowl of Spaghetti Carbonara each, and half of a cheesecake before Sarah was able to get a word in edgewise. “Wow,” she finally said, sitting back to regard him in amazement. “You...have definitely had a busy summer, Kurt.”

 

Shoving a bite of cheesecake into his mouth, he chewed it with excessive violence as he thought. “I know,” he admitted. “And now I am running out of it with things still unsettled.” He tossed his fork down and buried his face in his napkin. “I don't know what to  _do._ ”

 

“Unfortunately, honey, there's not much you _can_ do. I think you've worked out for yourself that there's no big magical fix for this.” Sarah scooted out of her side of the booth and slipped in next to Kurt, wrapping a comforting arm around his shoulders. “The only remedy is time, so that you can prove yourself.”

 

“I can't make more time out of nothing,” he pointed out sadly, picking up his fork again and prodding at the cheesecake. “But I don't want to lose him again.”

 

She sighed and squeezed him tighter. “Do you really think that's likely? He did come back after everything you put him through. Which reminds me.” Pulling back, she smacked the back of his head lightly. “Don't ever do that again. That boy is too cute for that kind of crap.”

 

“Not the hair!” he protested. “And I know that! Believe me, Blaine's adorableness is well-covered territory in my mind.” At Sarah's raised eyebrow, he blushed and looked down. “Stop it, not like that. Well, a little like that. Okay-”

 

“You are so cute when you're flustered, just like your dad.” His aunt grinned at him cheerily, rubbing the back of his neck. 

 

“Thanks, I think,” he muttered. Putting his fork down for the last time – _no more cake_ , he told himself firmly – Kurt sat back and sighed. “I just...I want the comfortable back, Aunt Sarah. I don't want to be afraid to kiss him, I don't want him thinking that whenever we get up to...” His face went bright red. “When we get up to...things...that I'll dump him again. I know that's what he's thinking.”

 

“Well, I would too, that was _terrible_ timing on your part, sweetheart.” The gentle smile and nudge that Sarah gave him took the sting out of the words. “But again, if anything is going to fix that, it's time. You can't rush something like this.”

 

He sighed and tipped his head back, looking at the restaurant ceiling. “I just wanted this settled before I left and we were separated for God knows how long. I wish I could just buy him a really awesome present. Things, I can buy. Time...” Sadness overwhelmed Kurt, leaving him unable to speak for a moment. “Time, I can't buy.”

 

* * *

“Chinese is here.” Quinn kicked her bedroom door open, arms full of brown paper bags. “Jeff, when you get to Berkeley? I recommend laying off the garlic chicken on date nights.” She made a face as she set the bags on her desk, handing cardboard cartons to each of the boys. “God, that stuff is potent, I could smell it through the _door_.”

 

“Never. Any girl who wants to get with the Jeffster needs to be able to hang with the garlic.” Jeff saluted Quinn with his chopsticks before digging in.

 

“Jeffster. Really. We're going with that?” Blaine gave him the most judgmental look he could manage, given that he had a mouth full of lo mein. Quinn hopped up onto her bed with her carton of sesame beef and glared at both of them in disgust.

 

“Blaine? You were not raised in a barn. And Jeff? That's a no on the Jeffster.” She rolled her eyes. “Why am I best friends with a couple of the most...guyish guys who ever lived?”

 

“Because of my mad board skills?” Jeff asked.

 

“I'd say it's because of my awesome hair,” Blaine mused.

 

Quinn raised her chopsticks and opened her mouth as if to say something, but ended up just shaking her head and resuming work on her dinner. Blaine grinned and batted his eyelashes at her.

 

“Come on, Quincy, you might as well admit that you love us, garlic chicken, bad manners and all.” He scooped up another mouthful of noodles, making sure to pointedly chew and swallow them before speaking again. “And we love you.”

 

Much to their surprise, this made Quinn burst into tears. Jeff and Blaine stared at each other for a second before setting their food aside and hustling over to the bed. Jeff got there first. “Whoa, Quinn, was not expecting the waterworks,” he stated, taking her carton from her hands.

 

Blaine scooted up next to her and both boys wrapped her in a hug. “What's going on, Quinn? Are you okay?”

 

“I'm fine,” she replied, but the words were accompanied by a hiccup and a fresh wave of tears that smeared her mascara, so Blaine didn't really believe her. “God, how are you two ever going to survive without me?”

 

Jeff stared at her and snorted. “Well, unless you got into Berkeley and didn't tell either of us, I kind of have to, Quinn.”

 

“But I was hoping I _wouldn't_ have to, really,” Blaine added, not sure he liked where this was going. “Kurt's leaving in a month and Jeff's leaving next week. I need you, Quincy. What's going on?”

 

That just made her cry harder. “Damn it. I hate crying,” she sniffed, wiping at her eyes and making a face at the goop on her fingers. “Ugh, this is not how I wanted this to go!”

 

Jeff grabbed her hands and made her look at him. “Okay. So. Breathe? Yeah?” He looked at Blaine and jerked his head towards the tissue box on her end table. “Dude. Runny makeup. You know the drill.”

 

“Right.” Blaine scrambled down and got the tissue, handing it over and resuming his place next to Quinn. “Quinn, please, come on,” he begged, pulling a tissue out and dabbing at the messy black streaks under her eyes. “We can't help if you don't tell us what's going on.”

 

She yanked the tissue from his hand and gently wiped under her lashes, taking a few breaths to calm herself. When she had finally stopped hiccupping, she spoke again. “I'm going to Europe.”

 

“ _What_?” The question exploded out of both boys simultaneously, making her laugh through her tears.

 

“Europe. I'm...going backpacking.” Quinn giggled and kicked her feet a little in her excitement, blowing her nose before going on. “For as long as I want, me and my guitar.”

 

Jeff was rubbing at his forehead, stunned. “But why? And how?”

 

“Trust fund.” She shrugged. “Mom and Dad set it up when I was born, and I guess it earns pretty decent interest. So Dad offered me some – I think Mom maybe bullied him into it.” Rolling her eyes, she looked down at the tissue in her hands and began to shred it. “It's totally obnoxious, a trust fund baby tourist in Europe, but fuck it. What else am I doing right now?”

 

“Wow. Europe. All by yourself?” It appeared that Jeff was still having trouble processing the news, but he was getting excited anyway. “Quinn, holy crap, that's so cool.”

 

Quinn smiled, blushing a little, before turning to look at Blaine. “Hey. Blaine. Say something.”

 

“Europe. Wow.” He forced a smile on, hoping he was hiding his abruptly sinking heart. “God, that's awesome.”

 

Raising an eyebrow, she huffed out a slightly indignant laugh. “Try not to throw a party over it.”

 

Apparently he wasn't doing such a hot job with the hiding. “No, Quinn, seriously, that's great,” he tried again, smiling wider. “It's just such a surprise.”

 

Truthfully, he felt like he'd had the rug pulled out from under him. Jeff, then Kurt, now Quinn. For the first time, Blaine was acutely aware that he had no concrete plans for the future...and worse, now he was going to be completely alone dealing with it.

 

For one wild instant, he wondered if Quinn's mom had any bourbon left.

 

A touch on his arm made him jump. “Earth to Blaine,” Quinn said softly, a worried look on her face now replacing the excitement. “You were a million miles away.”

 

“Yeah, no, it's...I'm sorry, Quincy.” Blaine still couldn't give up on trying to make the happiness he genuinely felt for his friend come more to the forefront. “I _am_ happy for you. I think this is a great idea and exactly what you need.” Reaching over, he gathered her into a tight hug. “I'm just going to miss you so much.”

 

“You're going to miss all of us,” she replied shrewdly. “I'm sorry.”

 

Blaine shook his head emphatically. “No! No, please, don't worry. Don't be sorry. I'm going to be fine! I have some plans, some ideas...” Which was true. He had a few vague things in mind, so it wasn't a lie. “It's just a lot to take in.”

 

“Maybe _you_ should get out of town,” Jeff suggested. “Want to make my road trip to Berkeley with me? It'd be fun! You'd just have to fly back or something.”

 

Blaine had to admit it actually did sound fun. He was sorely tempted. But... “Nnnnooo, I can't,” he replied reluctantly. “I still want to be there for Kurt while his dad's in the hospital.” At Quinn's irritated sniff, he turned to glare at her reproachfully. “Come on, Quinn, let it go.”

 

“Let it go?” Her eyebrows disappeared into her hairline. “He almost put _you_ in the hospital next to his dad. You ate so much junk food after he dumped you, your sister was starting to leave referrals to nutritionists and Weight Watchers on your bed. Oh, and let's not forget – he _dumped_ you!” Quinn crossed her arms over her chest, a thunderous look on her face. “ _After_ you slept together, I might add. I don't trust him not to kick you in the teeth again, so why should I let it go?”

 

“Quinn!” Jeff began to protest, only to be cut off by a wave of Blaine's hand.

 

“Um, because I let it go,” he informed her quietly. “I trust him not to.”

 

She scoffed. “No, you don't!” Leaning over Jeff's lap, Quinn grabbed her carton of food and sat back up. “When was the last time you kissed him? Or had you forgotten you told me about that?”

 

“ _Quinn_! Dude!” Eyes huge, Jeff stared at her in amazement. “Out of line!”

 

“No, I'm not!”

 

“No,” Blaine echoed, feeling like he'd been smacked upside the head. “Actually...she's not.”

 

Quinn turned to face him, suddenly disarmed. “What?”

 

He waved a hand aimlessly at her. “Okay. You're right. Or you have a point. One of the two.”

 

“Come on, Blaine.” Jeff's face had fallen when Blaine backed Quinn up. He folded his arms under his chin and looked at both of them with sad eyes. “You and Kurt are back together, that's a good thing.”

 

“Not if I can't kiss him without wigging out, Jeff! Quinn's right about that.” Blaine flopped back on the bed and covered his face, groaning into his hands. “He's leaving for England in a month, he'll be gone for years, and I can't even kiss him goodbye? That's fucked up, even you have to see that.” He rolled over. “Ugh, I don't want to talk about it.”

 

“But Blaine,” Jeff pleaded, “It's totally something you can fix with -”

 

“I think you should just break up with him before he breaks up with you,” Quinn interrupted, mumbling around a mouthful of food. Jeff shot her a filthy glare as he climbed up on the bed to sit next to Blaine.

 

“Good thing it's not up to you, then,” he snapped. “And don't talk with your mouth full after you give us crap for doing it.”

 

Blaine looked up and blinked. “Whoa, Jeff, don't -”

 

“No, _you_ don't, dude!” Jeff huffed and shook his head. “After all the time you put in trying to get him back, you've _got_ him. You cannot even give up right now. He's not cheating on you, and he's a decent guy, _unlike_ Finn.” He turned and shot another glare at Quinn. “Whatever's going on can totally be fixed, maybe you just have to wait it out.”

 

“Oh, because he has so much time to wait it out,” Quinn fired back, shoving up on her knees to get in Jeff's face. “Because all of this crap didn't take up enough of his limited time already, now you want him to give more time -”

 

It was easy to see that this was going to escalate into World War Three if he didn't intervene, Blaine realized. “Guys. Enough, okay? Stop.”

 

Still they squabbled on, their hand gestures getting more vehement and voices raising every other word. “You've never even dated anyone, Jeff, what do you -”

 

“ _Guys_!” Blaine interposed himself between his two best friends, glancing back and forth at both of them. “I appreciate _both_ of you looking out for me. I really, really do. But I also really, really meant it when I said I didn't want to talk about this anymore. Okay?” When he was reasonably sure they wouldn't start in on each other again, he scooted down off of the bed, retrieving his food so he could flop down onto the enormous beanbag in front of the TV. “This is supposed to be a happy night, so we have good memories when we all go our separate ways. Can we just watch the movie and shut up about me and Kurt?”

 

He sat, back to them, and waited. After a long moment of silence the TV flickered to life and he felt the beanbag dip on either side as Quinn and Jeff joined him. “Lucas,” Renee Zellweger drawled on the screen, “What are you doin' in here...?”

 

* * *

Jeff's gentle snores filled the air and played counterpoint to the end credits of 'Empire Records'. Blaine was pretty sure Quinn was asleep, too – she'd tipped over to rest her head in his lap about 30 minutes before and hadn't made a peep since. He himself was tired, but his brain was too preoccupied with solving the Kurt Problem to want to go to sleep. 

 

He thought about getting up to get the other movie they'd rented, but remembering it was 'Spice World' made him wince and decide he was better off just rewinding the tape in the VCR and rewatching it. Besides, he didn't want to disturb Quinn. Glancing around, Blaine wondered where she'd put the remote. Hopefully it was in reach.

 

“Blaine?”

 

He jumped a little at the drowsy murmur coming from his lap. So she wasn't asleep. “Yeah, Quincy?” Brushing a hand over her head, Blaine picked up a few strands of pink hair and began to idly braid them.

 

Her fingers pinched at a fold of his loose denim shorts and began to rub it back and forth like she'd used to rub her comfort blanket when they were little. “I'm sorry about earlier. I don't really want you to break up with Kurt.”

 

“I know.” He leaned down and pressed an affectionate kiss to her temple. “You're just looking out. It's what you do.”

 

“I just want you to be happy, and I worry 'cause you're so _good_ , Blaine,” she mumbled, curling up tighter. “But what are you going to _do_?”

 

Blaine shrugged and held back a sigh. “What  _can_ I do, Quincy?” he asked, picking apart the loose braid he'd made. He knew what she meant. “He's leaving. Soon. I want this resolved before he goes but I just can't even see how...not without more time.” He shook his head in annoyance. “I feel like an idiot, being scared to kiss him. I mean, I love him. I should be kissing him all the time.”

 

“Except when you kiss him, you want more than kissing,” Quinn reminded him, a sad smile in her voice. “And last time that happened...”

 

“Yeah.” He let out a gusty groan. “That.”

 

Quinn rolled onto her back so she could tip her face up to look into his eyes. “Like you said, Blaine. It'll just take time. It's not like you don't  _want_ to trust him. But it's not a thing you get to dictate when it'll happen.” Reaching a hand up, she tugged at his curls. “At least Kurt's worth trusting, eventually.”

 

“Big of you,” he teased, swatting her hand away.

 

“Shush. You know it actually is.” She made a noisy raspberry at him before softening. “Would it be the worst thing in the world if you _didn't_ fix this before he left? You've made some decent steps to getting started, Blaine.”

 

Blaine thought about it, the very idea depressing him immensely. “No,” he admitted reluctantly, “but I'm not  _happy_ about it.”

 

“Well, no, and I don't blame you,” Quinn replied gently. “But it might be what you just kind of have to do, Blaine. It's gonna take time, and that's not a thing you can just make out of thin air.” She yawned and stretched, catlike, before sitting up. “Too bad you can't just go with him.”

 

“Yeah,” he responded absently as he leveraged himself out of the beanbag. “Be nice if I could...” Blaine frowned as a faint thought tugged at the back of his mind.

 

“Maybe you can visit,” she suggested, flashing a smile over her shoulder as she shuffled over to Jeff's side to rouse him and get him into the trundle bed. “Aren't your parents kinda close to London?”

 

The realization hit him between the eyes like a badly thrown baseball and Blaine froze, half bent over to pick up his now empty lo mein carton.  _Of course_ . It should have occurred to him from the beginning of all of this, but he'd been too preoccupied with wanting to solve his and Kurt's problem immediately to even consider a longer term possibility. But it was perfect, the plan almost fully formed in his mind already. It would take a lot of work, obviously, and some pretty complicated arrangements, but he - 

 

“Blaine?” Quinn was staring at him from where she had a sleepy Jeff's arm over her shoulder. “You okay?”

 

He rubbed at his eyes, overwhelmed and trying to rein in his rising excitement. “Yeah! Yeah, I'm fine.” He beamed at his best friend a little manically as he moved to help her get Jeff into the spare bed. His mind felt like it was going a thousand miles a minute. This was almost too good to be true, too perfect to hope that it would turn out right.

 

And Blaine had no idea how he was going to keep it a surprise for Kurt.

 

* * *

At Lima General, Carole Hudson stifled a yawn as she checked another room off of her list. Now all she had left was Burt Hummel's room, just to make sure everything was in order there. Then the paperwork, and she could go home.

 

Normally she didn't mind her job, but sometimes it was difficult, especially when people she knew were under her care. She'd chatted with Burt at several PTA events over the course of their sons' high school careers. He was such a nice man, and they both knew the pain of losing a spouse and having to raise a child alone. It was a shame that all of this was happening to him.

 

She felt badly for Kurt as well. The young man already had so much on his shoulders without having to deal with this stress. She saw him in the room every day, long legs curled up under him in the chair right next to the bed, book in hand as he studied for school. It was amazing how he was holding up. She had no idea how Finn would handle the same situation, if it were her. He was already having issues with realizing he was leaving for college next week – and Ohio State wasn't even that far away.

 

Carole checked the various machines to make sure everything was still plugged in and showing good signs. Everything looked good, Burt just wasn't waking up. Probably too much trauma. She'd heard Dr. Lopez telling Kurt to not get his hopes up too high, that it was entirely possible his father wouldn't wake up before Kurt was scheduled to go to England.

 

“But you can't let that stop you, Kurt,” the cardiologist had cautioned, and Carole knew why – there'd been a stubborn light in the boy's eyes, as if he was ready to cancel all of his plans in order to stay by his father's side. “You can't do him any good putting your life on hold, and he will be very upset with you if he wakes up and finds out that you passed up this chance for him. No, you have to go.”

 

“Who will watch over him and make sure this doesn't happen again?” was Kurt's soft, slightly desperate response as he clutched at his boyfriend's hand. Blaine had been there every chance he could to be by Kurt's side, reminding Carole irresistibly of the day that Quinn had been brought in just under a year ago. Poor Blaine, spending so much time in hospitals. He had to be the kindest boy in the world. Kurt was lucky to have found him. Well, they were lucky to have found each other, really.

 

Right then, Blaine had squeezed Kurt's hand and cast a reassuring smile at the other boy. “Dr. Lopez will, Kurt. And Dr. Johansson. He's in good hands.”

 

“And don't forget that this happened despite your best efforts, Kurt,” the doctor had gently reminded them. “That said, I suspect this will have scared him enough to obey every order Diane Johansson gives him. Go, Kurt. Live your life, and let us do our work to ensure that your father can continue living his.”

 

Kurt had slowly, reluctantly agreed, but he still came to the hospital for hours every day. Carole had no idea where he got the strength.

 

She checked the chart. Burt had been shaved just the day before yesterday, but she wondered if they ought not do it every day. He seemed to stubble up fairly quickly, and it wouldn't be such a hardship for them to take a few extra minutes each day to ensure that he was tidy. She'd ask Kurt tomorrow evening. Carefully, Carole brought her hand to the comatose man's face to check how rough the ingrowth was.

 

When Burt's eyes fluttered open and locked confusedly on hers, Carole couldn't help the tiny gasp that shot out of her mouth.

 

Burt Hummel was awake.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We are so close to being done - one more chapter after this and then an epilogue! Thank you so much to all who have read and commented - I cannot tell you how it warms my heart and makes me so happy to see that there are people who love this as much as I do. I know I am total crap about replying to comments and I am sorry, but know that I get around to things eventually and I love you all!


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They have one last hurdle to clear and two weeks before Kurt leaves...is a last minute miracle in the cards?

* * *

“Blaine!” James' greeting as he answered the door at the Hummel home was gregarious, his cheerful handshake firm. “Good to see you again. Glad I didn't scare you off.”

  
  


“Dr. Patterson.” Blaine steeled himself, anticipating another uncomfortable interrogation. “It's, um, great to see you again, too.”

  
The psychologist threw his head back and laughed. "Relax, kid, I'm not going to put you through the third degree again. Sarah nearly tore my head off last time." He smiled warmly. "Just seeing you here tells me that you've stuck to at least one of your stated goals, anyway, so I don't think I have anything to worry about."  
  
"You don't? It does?" Blaine frowned, trying to think back to the dinner party. So much had happened since then.   
  
"To be with Kurt," James reminded him, clapping a hand on his shoulder. "Who says that you recently did very well at a skate meet in Cincinnati, so there's another goal in progress."  
  
 _Oh, right._ Blaine remembered now, and blushed a little to think of it. Well, he didn't regret his goals in the slightest. "Kurt says that? I mean, um, yes. I did well."  
  
James smiled wider and ushered him into the living room. "Well, great job. We're all really proud of you."  
  
"Thank you." He fidgeted with the hem of his Ramones t-shirt for a moment, not wanting to be rude but at the same time desperately wanting to see Kurt. They only had two weeks left now, so every moment counted. Despite his surprise plan, Blaine still held a faint spark of hope that they'd find a miracle.   
  
James had been watching Blaine with amusement for several minutes, and finally spoke up. "Kurt's upstairs with Sarah," he offered with a knowing grin. "She's helping him move Burt's things into the downstairs bedroom for when he comes home tomorrow."  
  
"Ah." Sticking his hands into the pockets of his shorts, Blaine rocked back and forth on his heels a little. "Would you mind if -"  
  
James chuckled. "Not at all. Go on up, and send Sarah down, please. We should be leaving soon for dinner."  
  
"Will do, thanks," Blaine called over his shoulder, already jogging up the stairs. He skidded into the master bedroom with a goofy smile on his face, one he'd had every time he thought of or saw Kurt since hatching his plan.   
  
"Oh, Blaine!" Kurt looked up in surprise from where he was carefully placing framed photographs into a box for transport downstairs. "You're here!" Blaine noticed that he was nearly vibrating, he was so hyper.   
  
"Yep. Dr. Patterson let me in," he replied in explanation, wondering at Kurt's energy. "And he asked me to send you down, Ms. Hummel."  
  
Sarah put down the lap blanket she was holding and strode over to kiss him on the cheek. "I keep telling you to call me Aunt Sarah," she scolded, a fond tone to her voice as she . "You never do, tsk! I gather James is ready to go home?"  
  
"That's what he said," Blaine confirmed, feeling slightly bashful. Sarah's insistence that he was family was still throwing him off even after two weeks of her relentless cheer.   
  
"All right. I think you can take over helping Kurt." Hugging him affectionately, she stepped to her nephew's side and gave him his own hug before picking up her purse. "I'll see you bright and early tomorrow?"  
  
Kurt nodded and waved as she left, turning to Blaine with a smile. "We don't have much left in here, really, so after we make the next few trips downstairs, you'll be helping me pack a couple of boxes to ship to my student accommodation, and to organize my final packing list for my suitcases," he explained more excitedly than apologetically. "I thought we could finish here, then go get dinner before we start in on my room?" A guilty look crossed his face. "I hate to use you for manual labor, but time -"  
  
"You're in a time crunch, I know. And it's fine! I love you, I'm happy to help." Blaine took Kurt's hand and squeezed it. "I'm a fan of your plan. Just point me where you need me to go."  
  
  


“This blanket -” Kurt handed him the blanket Sarah had put down. “And here, these pillows. Put them all in that box, and when I am done here with these photos we'll just go downstairs together!” He beamed a manic smile at Blaine, who repressed the urge to back away slowly.

  
  


“Okay,” he agreed slowly, re-folding the blanket and tucking it into the Rubbermaid box next to him. “Kurt? Are you okay?”

  
  


“What? Me? Sure!” Kurt's grin got even bigger and he nodded much too quickly in his agreement. “I had a lot of tea today, that's all.”

  
  


Blaine had the feeling that there was probably more to the explanation, but maybe now wasn't the time. Maybe over dinner. Where he'd persuade Kurt to stick to non-caffeinated drinks. He couldn't ask Kurt to stay over with him while he was being weird and manic, Connie would kill him. Or join in. Blaine wasn't sure which prospect was worse.

  
  


But his presence seemed to send Kurt's jubilation through the roof, and he was practically flying up and down the stairs carrying boxes between the two bedrooms, settling Sarah's things in for her stay in the master bedroom and organizing the downstairs for Burt's ease of use. He chattered to Blaine about every topic under the sun at top speed, making it hard to keep up. “So I got the letter from my landlady, and she seems super nice and said that there was a chemist – drugstore – around the corner that stocked good moisturizers in case I didn't bring enough and if the selection wasn't to my liking she'd be glad to escort me to Harvey Nichols one day so I could see what they had there because she totally understands the importance of a good moisturizing regime, although she did point out that it's a little more damp there than it is here so maybe I wouldn't need as much moisturizing at night after all but we'd see when I got there and I think I really like her already we're going to get along like gangbusters and -”

  
  


_Okay, enough_ , Blaine thought as Kurt nearly broke his neck tripping up the stairs. He seized Kurt by the waist and carefully steered him back down the stairs to sit on the couch. “Right. You? Are bananas right now, and I feel like it's not just the tea. So I want to know what's up.”

  
  


“Blaine! Don't be silly! Of course it's just -” Kurt broke off at the sight of the grim look Blaine felt taking over his face. “Oh, fine, it's not just the tea.”

  
  


“What, then?” Blaine watched Kurt carefully, curious and a little worried. “Is it your dad? Or school? Are you getting nervous about the flight? If I can help with that, I will, I've flown transatlantic a _lot -_ maybe you can talk to your doctor about Valium?”

  
  


“No! Well, yes and no. It's not my father, he's more or less fine, keeps flirting with Finn's mom, it's hilarious...it's not school, either, exactly, but it kind of is, and,” Kurt laughed, slightly hysterically, “funny you mention the flight, actually, you _absolutely_ can help.” He laughed harder, making Blaine frown.

  
  


“Kurt?” Now Blaine was _really_ worried. He was pretty sure they weren't about to have another breakup talk, not if Kurt was saying he could help with the flight, but he'd never _seen_ Kurt this wound up before. He didn't really know what to make of it.

  
  


“I was going to do this over dinner, but what the hell.” Kurt threw his hands in the air and smiled so widely, it seemed to Blaine that he might split his face in half if he wasn't more careful. His next words did nothing to ease the pangs of concern that were knotting up Blaine's stomach. “Do you still have the pen I gave you?”

 

Blaine nodded, ignoring the twinge in his chest this caused. His backpack was on the floor at the end of the couch where he'd dropped it when he came in. It was the work of a moment to pick it up and rummage through it, looking for the pen he hadn't removed since Kurt left it in his car all those weeks ago. Finally, he found it and pulled it out. “Right here.”

 

“Good.” Kurt turned around himself, digging through the end table behind him and retrieving something that he immediately concealed behind his back. He took a deep breath. “I'd like to ask for it back.”

 

“What?” Blaine couldn't help but laugh incredulously. This was the last thing he'd expected. “It's not like I actually have any good associations with this pen, but isn't it bad manners to ask people to give back the gifts that you gave them?”

 

“Mmm...yes, normally, but...well, what if I replaced it with something better?” Kurt did a little wiggly sort of dance in place, hands still firmly behind his back. “Something that won't have the bad associations?”

 

“Well...” Blaine looked down at the box in his hands. He had to admit, he was never going to be fond of the thing. Sugar had finally explained one day that Kurt had a reason for giving him that particular pen, and knowing it was something that meant a lot to Kurt was touching but...no. It was too tied up with that one terrible night, for him.

 

“Trust me. Just a little bit?” Kurt's eyes were shining when Blaine looked back up, and his smile was only just under his control. “Please?”

 

“Why?” Now Blaine was teasing, a little, because it looked like Kurt was going to jump out of his skin from nerves. Not that he didn't really want to know what the hell was going on, but teasing Kurt was a pastime he was pretty sure would never get old. “You really want this back?”

 

Kurt nodded emphatically. “Yes. I do. Because you won't need it to write me anymore.” Clearly unable to wait any longer, he brought his hands out from behind his back to reveal a long envelope. “I want you to have these, instead.”

 

Confused, Blaine handed over the pen and accepted the envelope. “What is this?”

 

“Open it.”

 

Now trembling with nerves himself, Blaine pried the envelope open and extracted two long strips of paper. Plane tickets. Specifically, plane tickets to London, the same day as Kurt's flight. “Kurt...what...what's this, what's going on?”

 

Kurt's smile was now fully boundless and bright with joy. “Time, Blaine. I'm buying us time. I want you to come with me.”

 

Blaine's jaw dropped, and he couldn't take his eyes off of the tickets. “Are you kidding me? Are you?”

 

“No. I could not be joking less.” Kurt took the tickets away and set them aside with the pen so he could grab Blaine's hands and hold tight. His shoulders heaved with the deep breath he took before speaking. “I want you to come with me. I mean, you can't stay with me in the student accommodations, they don't allow it, but I remembered your parents are only maybe two hours away, so your sister has been talking to them for a week and she says your mom misses you, Blaine, so I thought it might be perfect, my dad pays me to work in the shop, did you know? So I had the money to do it and I was saying to Aunt Sarah that I wished I could buy time and then it hit me...” Shaking his head, Kurt began to laugh as he spoke. “Anyway, I know it's a two hour trip into London but that's better than thousands of miles between us and I'll have a better chance to get things right with you and please, say something, oh God, you hate it, don't you.”

 

"You want me to go with you?" Blaine tried to understand. “To England? With you?”  
  
"Yes.” Kurt nodded, a slightly frantic smile on his face. “Ideally I'd keep you by my side until we worked all of this out, but that's not really practical, I mean, you do have to live with your parents, there's no choice there.” He took deep breaths and let them out slowly. “God, I have to meet your parents...but at least you'll be nearby, so we have time, Blaine, time to see each other and talk and go out and not be stuck just trying to work this out with phone conversations and letters and hoping that when I come home on holidays that it miraculously worked. I know you wanted to concentrate on your skating but I kind of hoped you could skate anywhere. You can, right? This is okay?”

 

Blaine blinked. “I don't believe it. I don't.”

 

“Blaine?” Confusion made Kurt pause, eyes widening in concern.

 

“Connie has to be laughing her ass off. My mom, too.” All Blaine could do was stare at Kurt, trying to process everything. Emotion was surging through him, overwhelming his mind. “Kurt...I've been making arrangements with Connie and my parents to move back to England. It was going to be your Christmas surprise. Is going to be your Christmas surprise.” He started to laugh uncontrollably. “They have got to be just...they're laughing at both of us. I don't know how Connie's been keeping the secret, I really do not. Although this explains why she kept telling me not to buy tickets. 'Wait for the prices to come down,' my ass.”

 

Kurt was openmouthed in his shock. “Wait, what? What?”

 

“I have to get you something else for Christmas now that you know.” Shaking his head, Blaine tried to get himself under control long enough to explain it. “You were right, I can skate anywhere, my parents are right there and we'd be able to see each other a lot more than if I were still stuck over here, so I've been working on getting permission to move back. Dad's...well. Having a Dad pretty high up in the military _is_ useful, and he wants to mend fences between us, so he's willing to help.”

 

“You were planning to move back to England? To be with me?” Kurt just kept staring at him, a situation Blaine would have found comical if he hadn't been so overcome with happiness.

 

“Yeah. I just...” Blaine laughed again, more gently this time. “Turns out, no matter what's going on with us, I couldn't stand the idea of being apart from the person I loved.” Caught up in overwhelming happiness, he leaned forward and took Kurt's face in his hands, planting a spontaneous kiss on his lips before either of them realized what was happening.

 

Fear and exhilaration zinged through Blaine's veins like a fuse lit on a powder keg. Instinct drove him to deepen the kiss, to melt into Kurt instead of pulling away.  _What took me so long?_ he wondered, pressing Kurt back into the couch cushions, letting one hand trail down his arm until their hands touched and he tangled their fingers together, never breaking the kiss. It was like coming home, like putting on his favorite sweatshirt, like a warm bath on a cool day. 

 

Kurt's lips parted under his, and without thinking twice, Blaine allowed his tongue to take advantage of the opening, flicking over teeth and soft skin before brushing alongside of Kurt's tongue, slipping and sliding, testing and tasting. Blindly, he climbed into Kurt's lap, straddling his hips and clenching the front of his shirt in both fists.

 

A blissful eternity of hitching breaths and low moans passed before Blaine slowly broke the kiss a great deal more reluctantly than he'd initiated it, nipping at Kurt's lower lip with his teeth before pressing their foreheads together. His breath and heart were racing like he'd just run a marathon. “Hi,” he finally offered softly when he felt able to speak coherently, the first traces of a smile he knew he wasn't going to be able to control tugging at his lips. 

 

“Hi,” Kurt echoed, hushed and amused. “So...you just kissed me.”

 

“I did,” Blaine agreed, nodding happily and feeling quite pleased with himself. “Even better, I really want to do it again, too.”

 

Kurt's fingers were at Blaine's waist, fingers curled into the soft fabric of his t-shirt. “I won't stop you,” he breathed, loosening one hand to let his knuckles brush up and down Blaine's side, just shy of tickling. It sent delicious shivers rocketing up his spine. “I mean, if you're really sure you want to...”

 

Blaine didn't even bother to respond with words, simply dipping his head down again to reclaim Kurt's mouth. With his eyes closed, his other senses seemed so much sharper and brighter – the scent of sandalwood filling his nose, Kurt's pants and groans like music in his ears, and his  _mouth_ , Kurt's mouth tasted of tea and pears and the faintest sparkling hint of cinnamon.

 

To say nothing of what he felt under his roaming fingers, under his hips as they pressed down into Kurt's lap. Blaine's sense of touch was working double overtime. A groan of his own escaped his lips.

 

“Oh, God,” Kurt whimpered, pulling away. “Blaine, we have to stop. We have to. Or I am not going to _want_ to stop.”

 

“Then don't stop,” Blaine advised him, his breath coming more freely than it had in weeks. He felt like a man who hadn't had enough to eat or drink in far too long – kissing, touching, it wasn't enough, it only made him want to take full advantage of everything he could possibly get. He was seized with the desire to grasp the moment they were sharing with everything he had and never, ever let go again. “Don't stop me.”

 

Kurt stilled, eyes searching Blaine's face. “You have to be sure, Blaine.”

 

He didn't look away, keeping his gaze steady. “I'm sure,” he murmured, pressing a soft kiss to Kurt's mouth. He broke away and trailed his nose along the high, flushed cheekbone, down the jawline to the warm spot behind Kurt's ear that made him grip hard enough to leave bruises when Blaine mouthed at it as he was doing now. “I am...completely...” and he slipped down to trace more kisses along the strong column of Kurt's neck and throat until he arrived at the dip where his collarbones met, “...sure...that I want you. Right now.”

 

Under Blaine's relentless attention, Kurt was beginning to writhe helplessly, but he kept trying to talk. “What...changed?”

 

“Kurt.” Blaine lifted his head and stared at his boyfriend. “Is now _really_ the time you want to distract me with questions?” For emphasis, he pressed his hips down harder, making Kurt groan and his eyes roll straight back into his head. “I want you. _Now._ I don't want to think too much about it, I just want you.” 

 

“I...”

 

Leaning back down, Blaine directed a warm whisper into Kurt's ear. “Please, Kurt. I want to go upstairs. I love you and right now I want this. I want to give in to this moment. Please.”

 

Kurt's eyes grew wide, his mouth forming a perfect 'o' of gratified surprise and comprehension. Blaine could only smile at the sight as he pushed himself up to standing and reached for Kurt, pulling him to his feet and tugging him towards the staircase.

 

They left a trail of clothing behind them as they made their way to Kurt's bedroom, shirts and vests and shorts – Blaine was naked long before Kurt was even halfway there. “You and your layers,” he laughed, opening the buckle of Kurt's belt and slithering the leather out of the loops on his jeans. “We're going to have to work on this...”

 

“Be happy I didn't have my boots on,” Kurt shot back, reaching around Blaine's hand for his cock and stealing all of his breath away. “Mm. No response?”

 

“Shut up and kiss me,” Blaine gasped, peeling Kurt's jeans and briefs away until they could be kicked off and the two of them fell across the bed, a tangle of flushed skin and soft groans. They were both completely hard, Kurt's erection resting scorching hot and heavy against Blaine's. The fear and hurt of the weeks between their first time and now had been sharp and keen, yet it had never even remotely dimmed the magnetic attraction between them. Now they were so aroused, so fast, Blaine was a little worried that they'd end as soon as they began.

 

And he had plans.

 

“Hold on,” he rasped, pulling back and rolling the two of them over so that he was on top. “Want to -” But rather than explain, he simply slipped down and took Kurt into his mouth, exactly as he'd done the first time, but this time, he wouldn't stop here. Nor was he going to take his time with this. He wanted Kurt to come as quick and dirty as possible.

 

“Blaine,” Kurt tried to speak, but words quickly devolved into incoherent moans as Blaine's lips and tongue worked him over. Blaine let out a groan as strong fingers tangled into his hair and pulled, hard. Without thinking, his hips pushed down into the bed and it had been too long, the stimulation was too much, the warm pulsing cock in his mouth, the groans of his boyfriend, and the softness of the bedding against his own dick all combined and before he knew it, he was coming, spilling himself hot and wet over the silky cotton top of the bedspread.

 

He had barely enough presence of mind to realize that Kurt was going over, too. Blaine clamped his lips tight around the shaft in his mouth and swallowed Kurt's come down, licking every last drop up before crawling up the long, lean body he loved and burying his hands in that thick chestnut hair, kissing deep and hungry as Kurt's fingers grabbed at his ass, pressing deep and dimpling the skin.

 

“Blaine,” Kurt tried again, squirming when Blaine bit sharply at his ear. Blaine didn't let up, switching his focus to suck at the crook of his neck. Kurt's hips arched up and Blaine felt him growing hard again already. Good.

 

“I want you,” Blaine whispered into his ear, rocking his hips back to press against Kurt's growing erection. It slipped between his cheeks, rubbing against his entrance and making him swallow at the thought of what he was going to ask Kurt to do. “The whole thing this time, Kurt. I don't want to stop.”

 

Kurt pulled back to look hard at Blaine, eyes wide and swirling with confusion, arousal, worry, want. “Blaine, this is a lot – you have – are you sure?”

 

“I want you,” he repeated, rocking back again and relishing Kurt's whimper. “I love you, I want you, I want _this_.” He pushed again and felt the dampness at the tip of Kurt's cock slicking against him. “But I'll stop if you -”

 

“No, no,” Kurt breathed, grabbing his hips to hold him still. “I want you...but I don't – I don't want to hurt you?”

 

“We'll just go slow.” Dipping his head again, Blaine kissed Kurt warmly, sweetly, with all the hope in the world. “We have time...and I have...I mean, I have to go downstairs for -”

 

Kurt seemed to understand immediately. “No. Bedside table.” He wriggled to the side to reach into it, fumbling blindly as he pulled Blaine's head back to his so they could keep kissing. The clatter of a bottle and box being pulled out of the drawer gave them both pause, however. It was a long moment of staring at the condoms and lube, fully comprehending what their presence really meant.

 

“Kurt,” Blaine started, curious. “Why do you have...supplies? Not that I'm not glad they're here so I don't have to go downstairs but -”

 

“Why do _you_ have supplies?” Kurt countered, tilting his head. 

 

They both looked at the box and bottle again. “Optimism,” Blaine finally admitted, nodding his head. “They were optimistic condoms.”

 

Kurt's face lit up with an indulgent laugh. “Optimistic condoms? _Blaine_...” He glanced again at the supplies, an expression of trepidation on his face. “I'm not fully sure how to do this,” he began, sounding a little nervous. “I've read about it, but...”

 

“Same here, but...fingers first.” Blaine bit his lip a little and took a deep breath in through his nose. “More lube than you think you'll need.”

 

They lay alongside each other, face to face, and Blaine knew that the nervous smile he saw on Kurt's face matched his own. Kurt's hand came up and his thumb brushed over Blaine's lips. “I feel like somehow this isn't very romantic,” he commented wryly, picking up the bottle at last. “I'm going to have to do something about that.” 

 

He began with kisses, deep and slow, distracting Blaine as the cap on the bottle was popped. One gentle knee nudged Blaine's leg up; catching the hint, he draped it over Kurt's hip, leaving himself open in a way he'd never been before, feeling somehow more naked than ever. A cool, wet finger slipped slowly under the tightened skin of his scrotum, slid down the warm, dark skin between his legs, came to rest against that most intimate and personal of places on Blaine's body.

 

“You're sure?” Kurt asked, swallowing hard as he looked at Blaine. Blaine hoped that none of his nerves showed in his eyes, hoped that all Kurt saw was love and eagerness. He nodded, tried and failed to smile in all the tension of the moment. He had so much _want_ and _need_ and was strung too tight for anything but that single nod.

 

Slowly, carefully, the finger worked inside of him, Blaine never shifting his gaze as he took Kurt into himself. He'd never had anyone or anything there before – it was tight, despite his attempt to relax, yet the slight pain was in itself a good ache, a good stretch. “Kiss me more,” he pleaded, and Kurt needed no further encouragement to do so, his tongue hot and wet in Blaine's mouth almost immediately.

 

It was exactly what Blaine needed to turn the ache into complete pleasure, to relax and melt against Kurt as his finger shifted and slipped inside of him. When he began to push back against it, Kurt took it as his cue to try for another finger to work Blaine open further. 

 

“Kurt,” Blaine groaned, his head falling back as his neck arched. “Kurt, now.”

 

The fingers paused in their work, making Blaine squirm against them, wanting more. “Blaine...”

 

“Please,” he begged, feeling his cheeks go a little red at being so shameless, but he _wanted_ so badly, _needed_ so much. And he knew Kurt wanted it too, he was completely hard again against Blaine's hip and Blaine wanted him inside _now_.

 

His side was abruptly cold as Kurt moved to kneel between his thighs, staring down at Blaine stretched naked and vulnerable across the bed. “I don't want to hurt you,” Kurt said again, and Blaine heard that there was more in the words than just concern for his physical well being. Sitting up, he reached for Kurt's face one more time, pressing the softest of kisses to the lips he loved so much.

 

“Just go slow,” he whispered one more time, rubbing his nose against Kurt's to make him laugh a little at the silliness of it. “Take your time. We have that.”

 

With a nod, Kurt pulled back and grabbed a condom from the box, carefully putting it on before reaching for the lube again. His cheeks matched Blaine's in their slight redness as he went through the preparations – and then all embarrassment fled them both when Kurt took himself in hand and Blaine felt the slippery coolness of latex at his entrance.

 

“Slow,” Kurt breathed, beginning to press forward, as slowly as he possibly could. Neither of them could speak. Kurt seemed unable to do anything but watch himself pushing into Blaine, who himself was reduced to focusing on how every nerve in his body felt like it was on fire with pleasure. If he'd thought their first time together had been incredible, this time, with all of its new sensations and feelings, was already establishing itself as an experience that would be hard to top.

 

Kurt kept up a careful push-pull-push, opening Blaine further with each small stroke until finally, after all the agonizingly pleasurable and slow progress, he was fully seated inside of Blaine. Blaine tried to wrap his head around it, tried to really get that they were as close as anyone could ever be to another human, but his thought processes all fled as Kurt began again to tentatively stroke in and out, still moving slowly.

 

“I'm not hurting you, am I?” came the hushed whisper, and all Blaine could do was shake his head and reach his arms up to bring Kurt as close as possible, only to be frustrated when he couldn't reach to kiss him. 

 

“I want to be closer,” he sighed, pressing kisses to Kurt's palms and wrists. Kurt paused inside of him and looked thoughtful for a moment before sliding free. Blaine whined a little at the sudden feeling of _empty_. He wondered if he might already be addicted to this, decided it didn't matter if he was. He just wanted it back.

 

Kurt did too, apparently. In seconds, he had Blaine turned around and had pulled him back against his chest, so that they were pressed tight, skin to skin, and then Kurt was inside of Blaine again, moving and pushing and stroking until Blaine couldn't think of anything anymore except  _this, here, now, more_ .

 

His hand gripped at the back of Kurt's neck, holding him tight and close while Kurt's hips rolled lazily forward over and over, sweet and hot and still so slow, driving himself as far into Blaine as he could go. One arm was wrapped tight around Blaine's chest, holding him upright while Kurt's other hand stroked and squeezed Blaine's cock until Blaine felt like his knees might give out.

 

“I love you, I love you, I love you,” came the frantic, hot whisper in Blaine's ear before a long groan and one hard thrust told him that Kurt couldn't hold back and was already coming again, his whispers melting into sweet groans and broken, panting cries of release. His hand held Blaine's erection in a strong but unmoving grip while he emptied himself, chest still pressed hard against Blaine's back.

 

One final thrust and then Kurt slipped free, pressing a kiss to Blaine's shoulder before swiftly moving to dispose of the condom. He was back in the bed almost before Blaine realized he'd left it, hands out to tackle him back down against the pillows. In the next instant, Blaine's lips were captured by Kurt's and again he was being kissed like his life depended on it as Kurt took him firmly in hand again to finish what he'd started.

 

Blaine's hands came up and gripped at Kurt's shoulders as if anchoring himself to keep from flying away. He felt every groan and gasp that slipped from his mouth being greedily swallowed down by Kurt, and all he could do was keep holding on as his world rocked itself to pieces. Each fold and curve of Kurt's strong, steady palms and fingers on his cock brought him closer and closer to coming.

 

So close to the edge already when Kurt had gone over, it wasn't long before Blaine followed suit almost explosively, his entire body going rigid as he shouted into Kurt's mouth and squeezed his eyes even more tightly shut. His toes curled, hot sticky streaks of come getting all over his stomach and Kurt's hand. Blaine's fingers dug in harder to Kurt's shoulders, holding tight as his hips bucked and Kurt's lips shifted to whisper warm and soothing in his ear, his hand moving slow...slower...slowest...and stopping as Blaine began to relax and come down.

 

Breathing returned first as he inhaled in a rush, not realizing he'd been holding his breath as his muscles went slack inch by slow inch. Then hearing, the extraordinary music of Kurt's voice in his ear repeating  _I love you, I love you, I love you_ while his fingers skimmed Blaine's stomach in light flutters. And sight at last when Blaine pried his eyes open, turning his head to see Kurt reclining next to him, gorgeous and flushed and smiling in wonder, just as he had been after their first time.

 

That was when, to Blaine's chagrin, the panic set in.

 

_It's not going to happen_ again, he told his racing heart to no avail. He shut his eyes again when Kurt turned away to grab tissues for clean up, and kept them shut while he tried to drown out the anxiety and remind himself that this was  _fine_ , he had  _wanted_ this, he had  _initiated_ this, they were going to England together and everything was good and this time was not that time and it was not going to happen again, everything was okay.  _I will not freak out, I will not freak out, I will not freak out,_ he chanted silently, remembering Kurt's mantra.

 

He'd  _thought_ he'd been silent, at least. The brush of facial tissue on his skin stopped. “Blaine?” Kurt's inquiry was tight with anxiety.

 

Oops. He cracked one eye open and saw that Kurt was biting his lip, a tiny frown furrowing his brows. Blaine opened both eyes, feeling guilty. “I said that out loud, didn't I?”

 

“Mmhm.” Kurt's worried eyes were fixed on Blaine's face. “Are you...was that okay?”

 

“It was great.” Now he tried to make himself smile, to reassure Kurt. It was much more difficult than he would have liked. “It was incredible, even.”

 

Kurt shook his head. “But you're freaking out. You were fine and now you're freaking out, I knew we shouldn't – I should have stopped you, you and your 'give in to the moment', I knew it was too soon -”

 

“Kurt!” Blaine felt his face burning with embarrassment. “What we did was amazing, Kurt, I swear. I just...yeah, I'm just telling myself that you are not actually going to dump me in a few hours.”

 

Kurt's face flushed as well. “Oh. Well...” He swallowed hard and tossed the tissue into a nearby wastebasket, sitting up and tugging a blanket over their bodies as the warmth of afterglow began to fade. “That...that would be fair. I can't really blame you.” His eyes were downcast, shuttered like a window on a gloomy day. “Blaine, I'm sorry.”

 

“Don't,” Blaine begged. “Don't let me do this. Stop being sorry, I have to stop wigging and you have to stop apologizing because we are _fixing_ this. We are.” He shoved himself up to lean on his elbow, watching Kurt and racking his brain for a way to make them both feel better. “Say something.”

 

Kurt lifted his gaze to Blaine's face, still sad, and the breath he took was heavy with caution. “Would it help if I told you I wasn't going to leave you this time? I don't think anything could get me to even consider trying.”

 

Blaine felt his mouth tilt into a small smile at the anxious, earnest offer, his panic ebbing faintly. “That could be a start. It's a good start. I like it.”

 

“But I don't _want_ a start, I want to fix it.” The distress in Kurt's eyes made Blaine's heart hurt. “I hate that I did this to you. I know I can't fix it in a day but I _wish_ I could. When we...when we're together, like that, I don't want you to always think it's going to end badly. It shouldn't be like that. I hate that I caused it.”

 

Cupping his hand along Kurt's cheek, Blaine breathed slow and even, making an honest effort to calm himself further. He wanted to be able to smile and tease and laugh right now, and damn it, he was going to do it or die trying. “You've got admit we've come a long way,” he pointed out, letting out a shaky laugh. “Yesterday we couldn't even kiss and today we're naked. Silver linings.” He took Kurt's hand for a moment and kissed the back of it. “Still, hey, if you want to try fixing it today, I'm all ears.”

 

“That sounds like a challenge.” Sitting up more straight, Kurt wrapped his arms around his upraised knees and arched an eyebrow at Blaine. “Did you mean for that to sound like a challenge?”

 

“Um...yeah. Yeah, I'm going to say that it is.” Mischief bubbled up in Blaine, burning at the edges of his anxiety. Winding up Kurt was never not fun, and he kind of thought that given that they were in bed naked right now, poking at his boyfriend's stubborn perfectionism could be not only just what the doctor ordered, but a whole lot of fun too. “Fix us. Do your worst, Kurt Hummel. Or best. You know, whichever.”

 

Kurt rolled his eyes. “ _That's_ what you call a challenge?”

 

“We're _naked_ ,” Blaine pointed out, feeling more lighthearted and contrary by the second. “ _You're_ naked and super hot and I'm trying to chill out, there's only so many things I can do at once.”

 

“Multitasking is a skill worth cultivating,” was Kurt's reply, delivered in a tone of mock condescension and sealed with a kiss. “I'd be glad to teach you.”

 

“Mm.” Blaine shifted a little closer, feeling a tiny smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth. “I guess it's only fair, since I taught you to drive stick...another time. I want to know how you're going to fix us.”

 

“Like this.” Touching their foreheads together, Kurt began to speak in a low, intense whisper. “I love you, Blaine Anderson. I love you so much that I refuse to say goodbye to you while we still have unfinished business between us, so I'm taking you to England with me.”

 

_Ah_ . Blaine fought to control his grin. It was an impressive start and he had to admit it was a really effective remedy for his ever-shrinking anxiety. Still...best to not make it too easy. “Tell me more, please,” he requested politely, settling more comfortably into Kurt's arms.

 

Kurt obliged. “For the last two weeks, I've gotten excited when I think about being at school and knowing you'll be just a train ride away.” He lifted Blaine's hand to cover his heart. “It makes my heart race to know that I'll be able to see you kind of frequently, not just at holidays and special occasions if I happen to come home to Ohio.”

 

Blaine felt Kurt's heart speed up its steady _thump_ under his fingers and ducked his head to hide the goofy smile that was trying to spread out of control across his face. As much as this was all an exercise in fun and chasing away their mutual anxieties, he had to admit he loved hearing it, loved knowing that Kurt really did mean what he said. But - “I don't understand,” he mumbled with deliberate obtuseness, choking back a laugh. 

 

Kurt's finger forced his chin up so that they had to look at each other, and Blaine saw immediately that he hadn't been fooled for an instant. “It's fine, I don't mind going on, Blaine. I absolutely can. For days. Months, even. However long it takes.”

 

“Even if it's years?” Blaine dropped all pretense and let the grin sprawl shamelessly across his face. The panic was receding into distant memory now, letting him freely enjoy being in Kurt's arms. He liked the idea of years together, fought to catch his breath at the thought. Years of exactly this, wrapped up in each other in bed, talking and laughing and teasing – yes, yes, he wanted that.

 

“I hope it _is_ years,” Kurt countered, lifting his chin. “That's years spent with you, so I don't care how I have to spend it. How am I doing?”

 

Pursing his lips, Blaine pretended to think it over. “It's not bad. Tell me more.”

 

Kurt burst out laughing. “I love you so much, Blaine,” he all but sang out, rolling on top of Blaine to cover his body, sliding his hands up Blaine's arms to pin his hands to the bed, “so much that the  _only_ time I want to leave your side tonight is when the pizza delivery guy brings us dinner, because forget going to Breadstix, we're not getting out of this bed.”

 

“Not to pick a fight,” Blaine interjected, “but that sounds like you actually are leaving the bed, Kurt.”

 

“Semantics.” Kurt waved his hand in the air dismissively before bending his head to press hot kisses to Blaine's neck and throat. “Someone has to get the pizza when it gets here, and having you naked in my bed will be considerable incentive for me to get back up here in a hurry. You're as distracting to me as you say I am to you.”

 

And Kurt was distracting indeed. Blaine wriggled at the pleasant sensation of lips on his skin. “So we're ordering pizza,” he breathed, beginning to having trouble concentrating on anything but the soft, sucking kisses. “Soon?”

 

“I thought so,” Kurt mumbled into his neck. “I'm hungry.”

 

So was Blaine, in a manner of speaking. He was growing painfully hard and against his thigh, felt that Kurt was getting there as well. “I'm not hungry for food yet,” he protested dizzily as blood left his brain in a rush. “I'm fine.”

 

Kurt pulled back, managing to look both questioning and smug. “Well, if you're not hungry, are you at least convinced?”

 

“Um...” He gazed at the ceiling, pretending again to be deep in thought. “I could be _more_ convinced. I am totally willing to hear you out some more. I feel like you have better arguments.”

 

A glare of mock irritation narrowed Kurt's eyes. “Better arguments?  _Better arguments?_ I was the Ohio State Debate champion for two years running. If there is one thing I can do, it's argue.  _And_ I'll have you know that I scored very well in Verbal on my SAT.”

 

“You're class valedictorian, I just bet you did,” Blaine replied agreeably, nodding. Yeah, okay, this was even more fun than he'd thought it might be. The added bonus was the it was working. “Maybe it's not verbal convincing that I need,” he suggested. “I was enjoying your non-verbal work.”

 

“I see.” Kurt nodded back, resuming his parade of kisses along Blaine's collarbone. “I could experiment with more of that.”

 

“It was...pretty good work...” Control over his faculties of speech and thought was beginning to slip again, Blaine realized. “Did you...ah...have something in mind?”

 

“As a matter of fact, I did.” Kurt's overly innocent expression made him laugh. “There is a particular non-verbal form of convincing I was considering. Though it is still...mmm...highly oral.” His eyes twinkled with mirth as he began to work his way down Blaine's torso, trailing more kisses in his wake. 

 

Blaine felt himself getting even harder. “You don't say,” he choked out weakly, his gaze never wavering from watching Kurt's progress. He liked where this was going, he liked it an awful lot.

 

“No, and that's the point,” was Kurt's cheeky reply as he settled between Blaine's thighs. “Now. Let's see what I can do about convincing you...and getting you to work up an appetite, because I could murder a pizza.”

 

Blaine sucked in a ragged breath when Kurt moved to lick and nibble at his hipbones. “Oh, God,” he groaned, reaching over his head to wrap his fingers in the steel posts of the bedstead. “You think you can do both at once?”

 

Lifting his head, Kurt licked his lips. “Well,” he mused, beginning to allow his fingers to roam tantalizingly close to Blaine's cock, “As I mentioned earlier, Blaine, multitasking _is_ a skill worth cultivating.”


	19. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When you hear the smoking sign go ding, that's when you know everything is going to be okay.

* * *

“If you don't loosen up on my hand, Kurt, I think you're going to break it.” Blaine's voice was apologetic but sweet as he wiggled his fingers. “I'm happy to hold your hand, maybe just...ease up a little?”

 

“Sorry.” Kurt swallowed hard and tried to relax his grip. “I'm just so nervous.”

 

Blaine patted his knee with his free hand, a reassuring smile lighting his face. “I bet it's not too late for Valium. Someone on this plane has got to have one. I could ask.”

 

“While I am absolutely certain that your adorable smile and charming demeanor would be able to score Valium on a crowded transatlantic flight four minutes before we get off the ground, I think I'll pass.” Taking a deep breath, Kurt leaned back in his seat and stared out the window as the plane's wheels slowly taxied over the tarmac. They were first in line for takeoff, the pilot had informed them. Any minute now they'd be airborne.

 

And would hopefully stay that way.

 

They'd taken seats in the back of the plane at Kurt's request. He wanted to be able to quietly freak out and hide under the flimsy airline blanket without too many people staring. _Why_ wasn't he old enough to drink? Why had he thought this was a good idea? Didn't they still have transatlantic cruises? He should have looked into that. 

 

Mm. Then again,  _Titanic_ .

 

The plane began to turn slowly onto the runway. When a grinding, creaking noise came from the wings, Kurt sucked in a sharp breath. Blaine's hand tightened reassuringly on his. “Wing adjustment,” his boyfriend soothed, his voice low and calm. “Totally normal.”

 

But Kurt had to close his eyes as the plane started its takeoff roll in earnest, picking up speed at a rate that alarmed him. Maybe he  _should_ have taken Blaine up on his offer to go trick-or-treating for Valium. He was suddenly terribly afraid that he was going to scream. God, he hoped not; he'd have to throw himself out of the plane to escape the embarrassment.

 

By the time the plane lifted off from the tarmac, pressing them back into their seats, Kurt had both hands over his face while he worked to take deep breaths. Damn it, he was the McKinley High School valedictorian. He was a Royal Academy of Dramatic Arts fellowship student. He knew exactly how planes worked, he'd taken AP Physics and even done a paper on aerodynamics. Kurt Hummel had a prodigious vocabulary, an embarrassingly high IQ, a memory like a steel trap and when he was on stage, his composure was legendary.

 

It was incredibly humiliating to be reduced to a whimpering pile of nerves by a plane ride.

 

“It's like being on a rollercoaster, isn't it?” Blaine's whisper into his ear was soft and his hands tugged gently at Kurt's. “Everyone loves rollercoasters, right? Hey, you even helped advertise them.” 

 

Kurt allowed his hands to be pried away from his face and he slowly opened his eyes to look at Blaine. “I did,” he agreed, voice thready and shaky. Blaine smiled encouragingly.

 

“It's all good, Kurt, it really is. Blink twice if you're fine.”

 

“I'm fine.” But Kurt uttered the sentence just as the plane shook, and a noise he couldn't identify rattled the aircraft a little. “Oh, God.”

 

Blaine's arm came around his shoulder, his other hand tangling back into Kurt's. “This is all really standard for a 747. I've heard all these noises a thousand times, Kurt.”

 

He nodded and breathed in deep. “Okay.”

 

“All right. High level safety tips.” Leaning closer, Blaine lifted their entwined hands to point at the unlit smoking sign above their heads. “See that? If anything happens, it'll happen in the first five minutes of the flight, right?”

 

“I suppose...” Kurt frowned, wondering what Blaine was getting at.

 

“When you hear the smoking sign go ding, that's when you know everything is going to be okay,” Blaine explained, holding him close. 

 

_Oh_ . “Good to know.” And it was sort of reassuring. Kind of. If only the sign would ding.

 

Blaine kept squeezing his shoulders gently, as if trying to spell out 'calm down' in some kind of bizarre Morse Code. “So I'm just going to keep talking until the sign goes ding, which is going to be very soon, okay?”

 

Kurt nodded. “Okay.”

 

“Look here.” Bending down to reach under the seat, Blaine pulled out his backpack and extracted a gaudily decorated Doc Marten shoebox. “Personalized flight kit from Quinn. Books, tapes, she stole Jeff's Game Boy – oh, we're going to have to mail that back, he's probably going totally nuts wondering where it is – anyway, you want anything?”

 

“No, thank you.” Kurt waited for Blaine to tuck his backpack away before pouncing and sucking him into a long, heavy kiss, one darkly flavored with his fear, he knew, but also the thrill of excitement. They were doing this. They were going to England and they were going together.

 

When they broke apart, Blaine's eyes were starry and wide as he looked around to see if anyone had noticed them. Only one person had, a small boy with a surprised expression stretching his eyes and mouth into perfect circles. Blaine waved at him. “How's it going?”

 

Kurt giggled as the little boy whipped around to face the front of the plane. “This is incredible,” he breathed, holding Blaine's hand against his heart. “Who would have ever thought we'd do this? Does anyone believe it could work?”

 

“Yeah, actually.” A dopey grin spread across Blaine's face like sunshine. “Pretty much everyone at least hopes it will. And anyone who doesn't...” He shrugged carelessly. “Well, defying the expectations of the doubters is kind of the moral of every great success story, right?”

 

“Right.” Kurt nodded and looked up at the smoking sign. “Where's the ding?”

 

“It's coming.” Blaine's eyes were fixed on the sign as well, his hand wrapped comfortingly in Kurt's. “Soon.”

 

“Any second now?” They watched the sign together, waiting. Kurt felt panic threatening to choke off his air, but Blaine's hand in his kept him just under the threshold of snapping and running screaming up the aisles.

 

“Any second now.” Some of Kurt's hysteria must have transmitted itself to Blaine, because now a little strain had begun to creep into his voice. “Yep. Any second.”

 

_Ding._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Roll the closing credits music...[Toad The Wet Sprocket - All I Want](http://youtu.be/YZpUUrEWnWQ) || [The Goo Goo Dolls - Iris](http://youtu.be/NdYWuo9OFAw)
> 
>  
> 
> So much thanks to everyone for your love and support and comments (which I will answer! one day soon!). This story has been an incredible journey and I am so grateful to Kat, Elsje, Tina and Sarah for their help with making it happen. Love to all of you, each and every one.


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